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COPYRIGHT, I9IO, BY JOSEPHINE BROWER 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

Published November iqio 



©CLA27583? 



Contmte 



Introduction xi 

Legend of the Arabian Astrologer i 

Legend of Prince Ahmed al Kamel 29 

Legend of the Moor's Legacy 85 
Legend of the Three Beautiful Princesses 121 

Legend of the Rose of the Alhambra 163 

Legend of the Two Discreet Statues 189 



Jttmivaiione 



FROM DRAWINGS IN COLOUR 
BY C. E. BROCK 

Legend of the Arabian Astrologer (p. 15) 

Frontispiece ^ 
" Beware, O king ! " whispered Ibrahim. 

Legend of Prince Ahmed al Kamel . .82'^ 

The carpet rose in the air, bearing off the 
prince and princess 

Legend of the Moor's Legacy .... 108- 
They fancied they heard a noise from above 

Legend of the Three Beautiful Princesses 136 

The princesses crowded round him, and im- 
plored mercy for the prisoners 

Legend of the Rose of the Alhambra . 172^ 

He seized her hand, and imprinted on it 
a kiss 

Legend of the Two Discreet Statues . 210 

Was ever such a trick played upon a holy 
friar ? 



Jnixo^uction 




HERE is a promontory in the 
southwest corner of Europe 
which rises from the sea on one 
side and a once unknown ocean 
on the other, cliff above cliff, hill above hill, 
mountain above mountain. About its shores 
in Queen Dido's time prowled the high- 
beaked ships of Carthage hungry for trade. 
Curiously their wily captains scanned the 
mountain paths leading from inaccessible de- 
files down which, in order to traffic on the 
sea-beach, came tall, bold-featured Iberians. 
Having finished bargaining, the savages dis- 
trustfully turned away, remounted the stony 
trails, to melt into the mists that crowned 
their vast and gloomy tableland. What was 
it like up there, the Phoenician trader won- 
dered ? 

xi 



3n<trobuction 

Years afterwards, when Carthaginian gen- 
erals had crushed many a hardy and liberty- 
loving race, the Phoenicians wondered still 
more. For the taciturn Iberians silently 
withdrew from every attempt at conquest. 
Up within those melancholy mountains, no- 
body knew how, a race of men lived who 
could not be enslaved. 

One thing the old-world empires did 
know, however. Out of that unknown in- 
terior four great rivers wore their way west- 
ward into the Atlantic, and, as they fell 
toward the beach, they washed down gold. 
And it was the rumour of this gold that 
called those sailing kites of wealth, Carthage, 
Greece, Rome, the Goths, who make the first 
chapters of Spanish history. Each of these 
nations, in turn, conquered the green strip 
of Spanish shore. Not any one of them 
entered the guarded heart of Spain. Her in- 
vincible mountain-rampart rolled back the 
invaders as the cliffs rolled back the sea, 
xii 



3ntxobuctxon 

while, from above, the ancient Iberians 
looked down in unconquerable manhood, 
silent, melancholy, honourable. 

By and by a fifth invasion came like light- 
ning. Out of North Africa, across the straits, 
rushing up and over the mountain barriers 
that had kept out the great races before 
them, came the desert-born Moors ! They 
came like wild-fire, scorching, blinding, and 
driving before them the old Iberian race until 
they hemmed it into the little northwest cor- 
ner where afterwards Castile and North 
Portugal were outlined. There they passed 
it by for a time, while they poured through 
the defiles of the Pyrenees and streamed 
down into the green plains of France. The 
white barbs of the Moorish desert disdained 
to tread on Prankish soil, and, as they poised 
their dainty feet in air, the smooth steel caps 
of the riders with their quivering spikes and 
floating green veils caught the sunlight and 
shimmered it away. Like a sea-tide the green 
xiii 



3n(xob\xctxon 

and glancing Moslem host rolled into the 
history of Europe. 

In its path waited a forlorn army. Frag- 
ments and remnants of the broken Roman 
empire had gathered together, dreary and 
desperate, for a last stand. Before them 
loomed one colossus, Charles the Sledge- 
Hammer, that day the saviour of a continent. 
It was on the plain of Tours in the year 732 
that they fought one of the greatest battles 
of the world. Darkness and despair led by 
Charles the Sledge-Hammer broke and shat- 
tered the Moorish array. Abdurrahman was 
killed, and slowly and sullenly the Moors 
receded southward again. 

And now begins the romance of Spain. 
The Moors had come back to stay. They 
built beautiful cities, graceful palaces, and 
barren old Spain began to blossom like a 
garden. Famous universities arose here and 
there. Music, poetry, literature, flourished 
under the kindly smile of the Khalifs. But 

xiv 



Untxobuctxon 

behind this smile of peace the spirit of Iberia 
was gathering itself together up there among 
the mountains of Castile. The name Castile 
comes from the chain of castles which the 
hunted Spaniards had hung from cliff to cliff 
around their forbidding refuge. As soon as 
the Moors began to busy themselves in other 
ways than fighting, the gaunt Castilian 
knights began to let down their drawbridges. 
One day, when everything was ready, they 
rode forth followed by their men at arms, 
their priests blessing them as they went, their 
anxious ladies fluttering scarfs from the 
battlements and calling '' God-speed, God- 
speed! " For they were going to fight against 
the infidels whose religion was a worse crime 
than their conquest. The old Castilian be- 
lieved in the right of the strong to take what 
he could, but he never could be made to see 
that a man had the right to worship God ac- 
cording to his own conscience. Step by step 
the unconquerable Iberian stubbornness won 

XV 



3ntxobuctxon 

back its country. At last, in the very same 
year when Columbus sailed for the discovery 
of the new world, the day came when Boab- 
dil, with a handful of lamenting Moors, sur- 
rendered the last jewel of their kingdom, the 
most wonderful palace in the world. The 
Alhambra, and left forever the shores of 
Spain. 

But the spirit of the Moor never has dis- 
appeared from Spain. Still he rules the Sierra 
Morena and haunts every watercourse of 
Andalusia. To this day, after nightfall, 
Spain is no Christian kingdom, but is ruled 
over by the Khalif. The Spanish peasant who 
lingers too late on the mountain roads, bring- 
ing down snow or wood to cool the water or 
build the fire of the Spanish city-dwellers, 
runs the risk of being overtaken and caught 
up by some phantom cavalcade, and swept 
away with them into their caverns deep un- 
der the mountains. There they sleep an en- 
chanted slumber by day, and with the night 
xvi 



Sntxohuctxon 

come forth to resume their ancient realm. 
And all this is why Spain is the most romantic 
country of Europe ; the genius of her Moorish 
conqueror enchanted her even while she 
drove him out. 

The genius of the Moor enchanted her ! 
She was ignorant. The Moor was skilled in 
every science known to that time. She could 
build just rude castles, and she loved the 
slender minarets and the swelling domes of 
Moorish mosque and palace. She could not 
help contrasting her dull grey stone walls 
with the glowing richness of Moorish stucco 
work, and her heart was wrung when she 
contrasted her rude war songs, her harsh 
trumpet notes, her massive religious chants, 
with the languorous and passionate music 
and poetry of her invader, his clashing cym- 
bals, quiver of strings, the soft notes of the 
flageolet. The pride of the Castilian noble, 
accentuated by his honourable poverty, and 
his high-souled struggle for independence, 
xvii 



Sntxobuctxon 

was shamed by the oriental grace, the Epi- 
curean serenity and courtliness of the benign 
Moslems. Lastly, his imagination took fire 
at some matchless stories that have held the 
world spellbound ever since the Spaniard 
retold them. 

It is this union of the stern spirit of old 
Iberia with the rich imagination of the Moors 
which makes old Spanish stories about the 
finest ever told. They tell of the honour and 
the dignity and the pride of the Castilian fight- 
ing noble matched by an urbane and chival- 
rous foe. They display the glow and luxuriance 
of the most flexible of the tropic races side 
by side with the desolate sadness that broods 
over those barren and sun-scorched plains, 
whose solitudes to this day are dotted here 
and there only by a few taciturn herdsmen. 
Their plots are full of the mystery and fire 
of the Arabian Nights, full of castles with 
secret passages, mountains with subterra- 
nean caverns, beautiful ladies shut up in 
xviii 



3n(xdbMCtxon 

towers, music coming from no one knows 
where, mysterious physicians who practise 
magic, proud young cavaliers in velvet 
cloaks, their swords sticking briskly out be- 
neath, incomparable seiioritas throwing roses 
from moonlit balconies whose arabesques 
form tantalizing screens to their beauty, 
hard-hearted fathers becoming suddenly 
soft-hearted at the end of the story, and 
blessing runaway children. In other words 
these stories carry us where so many great 
conquerors of Spain could not fight their way, 
that is, into the dreaming heart of Spain. 

A good many years ago, one of our coun- 
trymen travelled into this enchanted country 
on a sober errand of historical research. He 
was getting ready to write the life of the 
man who discovered America. It was this 
fortunate project which enabled him, four 
hundred years after Spain discovered Amer- 
ica, to bring it about that America discovered 
Spain. 

xix 



Sntxo^uctxon 

Washington Irving went to Spain in 1826. 
He was on a seventeen year visit to Europe. 
He had been in England, France, Germany, 
and Italy, and each country of them, espe- 
cially England where he stayed the longest, 
made him think and write about his own 
country. But when he found himself across 
the Pyrenees, — for the first time, he lost him- 
self in a country which has suffered less from 
change than has any other country of Eu- 
rope. From the hour that he entered Spain 
until the end of his life Washington Irving 
was haunted by Moorish Iberia. It is to this 
that we owe a richness of style, a romantic 
feeling for the superb, which, but for Spain, 
the " Father of American Literature " would 
have lacked. 

Some of the time Irving lived at court in 
Madrid, but best of all he loved the time he 
spent at Granada in the summer palace of 
the Moors. There he wandered by sunlight 
and by moonlight through the flower-scented 

XX 



Sntxobuctxon 

courts, listening to the tinkle of water as it 
ran unceasingly through the deserted corri- 
dors into marble basin and tessellated reser- 
voir. And there, on the very spot where it 
reached its glory, he recreated the strangest, 
most gifted, most unreal monarchy that ever 
reared its fabric for a time in Europe. 

More pedantic critics than we may smile 
at Irving's gifts as a scholarly historian, but 
we who know that the highest and sweetest 
wisdom in every race finds expression in its 
legends will see to it that every generation 
of children in America shall be familiar with 
traditions as heroic and brilliant as any ever 
created. 

The author of this arrangement of Irving's 
Alhambra stories loved these stories when 
she was a child, but was troubled by the 
necessity of hunting them out from their 
context. Therefore with rare and happy tact 
she has selected and simplified some of the 
narratives, enriching them with Mr. Charles 
xxi 



E. Brock's fine drawings, for other children 
whose eyes turn eagerly to look through 

*' Magic casements opening on the foam 
Of perilous seas in faery lands forlorn." 

Frances Squire. 



Bi$^t> of 




jBe^enb of 

N old times, many hundred years 
ago, there was a Moorish king 
named Aben Habuz, who 
reigned over the kingdom of 
Granada. In his youthful days he had been 
a great conqueror, but now that he had grown 
old, he desired nothing more than to live at 
peace with all the world and to enjoy in quiet 
the possessions he had taken from his neigh- 
bours. 

It so happened, however, that he had young 
rivals to deal with; princes full of the de- 
sire for fame and fighting, who had some old 
scores to settle with him which he had run 
up with their fathers. He also had some dis- 
contented districts in his own kingdom, which 
in his days of warfare he had treated with a 

3 



high hand, and which, now that he languished 
for repose, were prone to rise in rebellion 
and threaten to invade him in his capital. 
Thus he had foes on every side; and as 
Granada is surrounded by wild and craggy 
mountains, which hide the approach of an 
enemy, the unfortunate Aben Habuz was 
kept in a constant state of watchfulness and 
alarm. 

He built watch-towers on the mountains, 
and stationed guards at every pass with orders 
to make fires at night and smoke by day, on 
the approach of an enemy. But it was all in 
vain. His foes baffled him at every turn, and 
were sure to break out of some unthought- 
of pass, plunder his lands under his very nose, 
and then make off to the mountains with 
their prisoners and booty. 

It chanced that while Aben Habuz was 
thus so sadly perplexed, an ancient Arabian 
arrived at his court. His white beard hung 
to his girdle, and he had every mark of ex- 

4 



treme age, yet he had travelled almost the 
whole way from Egypt on foot, with no other 
aid than a staff marked with hieroglyphics. 
His fame had preceded him. His name was 
Ibrahim, and it was said that he had lived 
ever since the days of Mahomet. He had, 
when a child, followed the Arabian army into 
Egypt, where he had remained many years 
studying magic among the priests, and there 
he had learned the secret of prolonging life. 

This wonderful old man was honourably 
entertained by the king. He invited him to 
remain in an apartment in his palace, but 
the old Arab preferred a cave in the side of 
the hill which rises above the city of Gra- 
nada. He had the cave enlarged to form a 
spacious hall, with a circular hole at the top, 
through which he could see the heavens and 
behold the stars. The walls of this hall were 
covered with Egyptian hieroglyphics, and 
with the figures of the stars in their signs. 

In a little while the sage Ibrahim became 
5 



the bosom friend of the king, who applied to 
him for advice on every occasion. One day 
the king was as usual lamenting over the in- 
justice of his neighbours and the strict watch- 
fulness he was obliged to observe to guard 
himself against their invasions. The old Arab 
remained silent a moment, and then replied: 

" Know, O king, that when I was in Egypt, 
I beheld a great marvel. On a mountain, 
above the city of Borsa, and overlooking the 
great valley of the Nile was a figure of a ram, 
and above it a figure of a cock, both of brass, 
and turning upon a pivot. Whenever the 
country was threatened with invasion, the 
ram would turn in the direction of the enemy, 
and the cock would crow. Upon this the in- 
habitants of the city knew of the danger, and 
of the quarter from which it was approach- 
ing, and could take timely means to guard 
against it." 

"God is great!" exclaimed Aben Habuz, 
" what a treasure would be such a ram to 

6 



&tQttib of tS}t (^tafiian (§$txoto^tt 

keep an eye upon these mountains around 
me: and then such a cock, to crow in time 
of danger! How securely I might sleep in 
my palace with such sentinels on the top ! " 

"Listen, king," said the Arab. "When 
the city was conquered, this talisman was de- 
stroyed, but I was present and examined it 
and studied its secret and mystery, and I can 
make one of even greater power." 

"Owise one," cried Aben Habuz, " better 
were such a talisman than all the watch- 
towers on the hills, and sentinels upon the 
borders. Give me such a safeguard, and the 
riches of my treasury are at your command." 

And so the old Arab set to work at once to 
carry out the wishes of the king. He caused 
a great tower to be built upon the top of the 
royal palace. It was built of stones brought 
from Egypt, and taken, it is said, from one of 
the pyramids. In the upper part of the tower 
was a circular hall, with windows looking to- 
ward every point of the compass, and before 

7 



€cik0 ftom t^t (Kii^cm&xci 

each window was a table, on which was ar- 
ranged, as on a chess-board, a mimic army 
of horse and foot, with an image of the 
monarch who ruled in that direction, all 
carved of wood. 

To each of these tables there was a small 
lance, no bigger than a bodkin, on which 
were engraved certain Chaldaic characters. 
This hall was kept constantly closed, by a 
gate of brass, with a great lock of steel, the 
key of which was in possession of the king. 

On the top of the tower was a bronze figure 
of a Moorish horseman, fixed on a pivot, with 
a shield on one arm and a lance. The face of 
this horseman was toward the city, as if keep- 
ing guard over it. But if any foe were at 
hand, the figure would turn in that direction, 
and would level the lance as if for action. 

When this talisman was finished, Aben 
Habuz was all impatient to try it. And he 
now longed as much for an invasion as he 
had before sighed for peace. He soon had his 

8 



wish. Tidings were brought, early one morn- 
ing, that the face of the bronze horseman was 
turned toward the mountains of Elvira, and 
that his lance pointed directly against the 
Pass of Lope. 

^'Let the drums and trumpets sound to 
arms, and all Granada be put on the alert/' 
said Aben Habuz. 

" Let not your city be disturbed," said the 
Arab, "nor your warriors called to arms. 
Send your attendants away and let us go 
alone to the secret hall of the tower." 

So the ancient Aben Habuz mounted the 
staircase, leaning on the arm of the still more 
ancient Ibrahim. They unlocked the door 
and entered. The window that looked toward 
the Pass of Lope was open. 

"In that direction," said the astrologer, 
" lies the danger. Behold, O king, the mys- 
tery of the table." 

The king stepped close to the board on 
which were placed the small wooden figures, 

9 



and,"to his surprise, saw that they were all in 
motion. The horses pranced, the warriors 
brandished their weapons, and there was a 
faint sound of drums and trumpets, and a 
clang of arms, and the neighing of steeds : but 
all no louder, nor more distinct, than the hum 
of a bee. 

" Behold," said the astrologer, " a proof that 
your enemies are even now in the field. They 
must be advancing through the mountains, 
by the Pass of Lope. If you wish them 
to retreat without loss of life, strike these 
images with the head of the magic lance, but 
if you would cause bloodshed among them, 
strike with the point." 

Aben Habuz seized the lance with trem- 
bling eagerness. 

'' Son of Abu Ayub," exclaimed he, in a 
chuckling tone, " I think we will have a little 
blood!" 

So saying, he thrust the magic lance into 
one of the images, and beat others with the 

i6 



head, upon which the former fell as dead 
upon the board, and the rest turned upon 
each other and began fighting pell-mell. 

It was hard for the astrologer to stay the 
hand of the old king, and prevent him from 
killing all of his foes, but at last he persuaded 
him to leave the tower, and scouts were at 
once sent out to the mountains. 

They returned with the news that a Chris- 
tian army had advanced through the heart of 
the Sierra, almost within sight of Granada, 
where disagreement had broken out among 
them. They had turned upon each other, and 
after much killing had retreated over the 
border. 

Aben Habuz was overjoyed. 

"At length," said he, "I shall lead a life 
of peace, and have all my enemies in my 
power." 

And to the Arab he said: 

" What can I give you in reward for so 
great a blessing?" 

II 



Zcik0 ftom t^t (^f^amfim 

" The wants of an old man and a philoso- 
pher are few and simple. Grant me but the 
means of fitting up my cave and I am con- 
tent," answered Ibrahim. 

The king was secretly pleased to know 
that he asked so small a reward. He ordered 
his treasurer to give him whatever sums 
might be required to furnish and complete 
his cave. 

The astrologer now gave orders to have 
various chambers hewn out of the solid rock. 
These he caused to be furnished with beauti- 
ful ottomans and divans, and the walls to be 
hung with rich silks from Damascus. 

"I am an old man," said he, "and can no 
longer rest my bones on stone couches. 
These damp walls require covering." 

He had the apartments hung with silver 
and crystal lamps, which were filled with a 
fragrant oil made according to a recipe which 
he had found in the tombs of Egypt. These 
lights diffused a soft radiance. 

12 



" The light of the sun," said he, " is too 
bright for the eyes of an old man. The light 
of these lamps is better suited to the studies 
of a philosopher." 

The treasurer of King Aben Habuz 
groaned at the sums daily demanded by the 
astrologer, and he finally carried his com- 
plaints to the king. The royal word, how- 
ever, had been given. Aben Habuz 
shrugged his shoulders. 

" We must have patience," said he. " All 
things have an end, and so will the furnish- 
ing of this cavern." 

And he was right. The hermitage was at 
last complete, and formed a sumptuous under- 
ground palace. 

While the Arab passed his time in his 
cave, Aben Habuz carried on furious battles 
in the tower. It was a glorious thing for an 
old man, like himself, to have war made easy, 
and to be able to amuse himself in his cham- 

13 



^aC^0 ftom t^t (^t^cm&xa 

ber by brushing away whole armies like so 
many swarms of flies. And by degrees, his 
enemies grew weary from repeated failures 
and tried no more to invade his kingdom. 

At length, one day, the bronze horseman 
turned suddenly round, and lowering his 
lance, made a dead point towards a certain 
range of mountains. Aben Habuz hastened 
to his tower, but the magic table in that di- 
rection was quiet — not a single warrior was 
in motion. The king was perplexed and sent 
out a troop to scour the mountains. They re- 
turned after three days' absence. 

" We have searched every mountain pass," 
said they, " but not a helm nor spear was 
stirring. All that we have found was a Chris- 
tian damsel of great beauty, sleeping at noon- 
tide beside a fountain." 

" Let her be brought before me," said the 
king. 

So the Christian damsel was brought into 
the king's presence. She was dressed in the 



style of the Spaniards at the time of the 
Arabian conquest. Pearls were entwined in 
her hair, and jewels sparkled on her fore- 
head. Around her neck was a golden chain, 
to which was suspended a silver lyre which 
hung by her side. 

The flashes of her dark eyes were like 
sparks of fire on the old yet combustible 
heart of Aben Habuz, 

" Fairest of women/' cried he, " who and 
what are you ? " 

"The daughter of a Spanish prince who 
but lately ruled over this land. The armies 
of my father have been destroyed, as if by 
magic, among these mountains. He has been 
driven into exile, and his daughter is a cap- 
tive." 

"Beware, O king!" whispered Ibrahim. 
" This may be some evil spirit sent by your 
foes to do you harm — I think I read witch- 
craft in her eye. Doubtless this is the enemy 
pointed out by the talisman." 

15 



^afC0 ftom t^t ^l^am&xa 

" You are a wise man I grant/' replied the 
king, "but you are little versed in the ways 
of women. In that knowledge I yield to no 
man. As to this damsel, I see no harm in 
her. She is fair to look upon and finds favour 
in my eyes." 

"Hearken, king!" said the astrologer. 
" I have given you many victories by means 
of my talisman, but have never shared any 
of the spoil. Give me this stray captive, to 
solace me in my solitude with her silver 
lyre." 

" What! " cried Aben Habuz. " You have 
already dancing-women to solace you." 

" Dancing-women I have, it is true," said 
Ibrahim, "but I would have a little min- 
strelsy to refresh my mind when weary with 
the toils of study." 

But the king would not listen to the 
Arab's request, and they parted in high 
displeasure. 

All kinds of festivities were devised for the 
i6 



entertainment of the princess — minstrelsy, 
dancing, tournaments, bull-fights. Granada 
for a time was a scene of perpetual pageant. 
But she treated all this as a matter of course, 
and seemed to take delight in causing ex- 
pense as if she wished to drain the treasury 
of the king. 

Aben Habuz could not flatter himself that 
he had made any impression on the heart of 
the princess. She never frowned on him, it 
is true, but then she never smiled. When- 
ever he began to plead his suit, she struck 
her silver lyre, and in an instant the old 
monarch began to nod and gradually sink 
into a deep sleep. All Granada scoffed at 
his infatuation. 

At length the danger burst on the head of 
Aben Habuz, but this time the talisman gave 
him no warning. His palace was surrounded 
by an armed rabble, and both his life and that 
of the princess were in danger. At the head 

17 



of a handful of guards he sallied forth, put 
the rebels to flight, and crushed the insur- 
rection in the bud. 

When quiet was again restored, he went 
in great alarm to the astrologer who still re- 
mained shut up in his cave. 

"Wise Ibrahim," said he, "what you fore- 
told has in some sort come to pass. The 
princess has brought trouble and danger 
upon me. How can I be secure from my 
enemies ? Show me some safe retreat where 
I can stay in peace." 

A gleam shone from the eyes of the Arab 
under his bushy eyebrows. 

"You have heard, no doubt," said he, "of 
the palace and garden of Irem named in the 
Koran." 

And the king answered: 

" I have heard of that garden : wonderful 
things are told of it by the pilgrims who visit 
Mecca, but I have thought them only wild 
fables." 

i8 



"Listen," said Ibrahim. "In my younger 
days, when I was a mere Arab of the desert, I 
tended my father's camels. Once one of them 
strayed from the rest and was lost. I searched 
after it for several days, but in vain, until, 
weary and faint, I laid myself down and slept 
under a palm tree by the side of a well. 
When I awoke, I found myself at the gate of 
the city. I entered and saw noble streets and 
squares and market places, but all were silent 
and without an inhabitant. I wandered on 
until I came to a palace with a garden 
adorned with fountains and fish ponds and 
groves and flowers and orchards of delicious 
fruits. But still no one was to be seen. I be- 
came frightened and hastened to depart, and 
when I had gone through the gate of the 
city, I turned to look upon the palace once 
more, but it was no longer to be seen — 
nothing but the silent desert before my eyes. 
I met an ancient Arabian, who knew the se- 
crets of the land, and told him what had be- 

19 



fallen me : ' This/ said he, ' is the Garden of 
Irem, one of the wonders of the desert. It 
only appears at times to some wanderer like 
yourself.' In after years, when I had been in 
Egypt and made myself master of all kinds 
of magic spells, I made up my mind to visit 
again this wonderful garden. I did so. It was 
revealed to me and I passed several days in 
the palace. The genii who watch over the 
palace obeyed my magic power, and from 
them I learned how the whole garden came 
into existence, and how it was made invisi- 
ble. What say you, king, would you have a 
palace and garden like that of Irem, filled 
with all manner of delights, but hidden from 
the eyes of mortals?" 

"Owise one," exclaimed the king eagerly, 
" make me such a garden and ask any re- 
ward even to the half of my kingdom." 

"Alas," replied the other, "you know I 
am an old man and a philosopher, and easily 
satisfied. All the reward I ask is the first 



20 



beast of burden with its load, which shall 
enter the gates of the garden." 

The king gladly agreed and the Arab 
began his work. On the top of the hill just 
above his underground hall, he had a great 
gateway built. There was an outer porch 
with a lofty arch, and within was a portal 
secured by massive gates. On the top stone 
of the portal, the Arab, with his own hand, 
made the figure of a huge key, and on the 
top stone of the outer arch, which was loftier 
than that of the portal, he carved a gigantic 
hand. Over these he repeated many sen- 
tences in an unknown tongue. 

When this gateway was finished, he shut 
himself up for two days in his hall, engaged 
in secret incantations. The third day he went 
to the summit of the hill, and passed the 
whole day there. At a late hour he came 
down and appeared before the king. 

" My work is finished," said he. " On the 
summit of the hill stands one of the most 

21 



wonderful palaces that ever the head of man 
devised, or the heart of man desired. It con- 
tains beautiful halls, galleries, gardens, cool 
fountains, and fragrant baths. The whole 
mountain is like paradise. Like the garden 
of Irem, it is hidden from the sight of mortals, 
except those who know the secret of the 
talismans." 

"Enough!" cried Aben Habuz joyfully. 
"To-morrow morning with the first light 
we will take possession." 

Scarcely had the rays of the sun begun to 
play about the mountains when Aben Habuz 
mounted his steed, and with a few of his at- 
tendants ascended a steep and narrow road 
leading up the hill. Beside him on a white 
palfrey rode the princess. Her whole dress 
sparkled with jewels, and round her neck was 
suspended her silver lyre. The Arab, who 
never mounted a steed of any kind, walked 
beside the king carrying his staff. 

22 



Aben Habuz looked to see the towers of 
the palace, the terraces and gardens, but as 
yet nothing of the kind was to be seen. 

" That is the mystery of the place," said 
the Arab; "nothing can be discerned until 
you have passed the spell-bound gateway." 

As they drew near, Ibrahim paused, and 
pointed out the hand and key carved upon 
the portal of the arch. 

" These," said he, " are the talismans which 
guard the entrance to this paradise. Until 
the hand shall reach down and seize the 
key no evil can prevail against the lord of 
this mountain." 

While the king was gazing in silent 
wonder at these signs, the palfrey of the 
princess went on and bore her in at the 
portal, to the very centre of the barbican. 

" Behold," cried the astrologer, " my prom- 
ised reward: the first animal with its burden 
that should enter the gateway." 

The king smiled at first, not thinking the 
23 



Zcik0 ftrom i^t (^l^am&xa 

old man in earnest, but when he found that 
he was, his gray beard trembled with indig- 
nation. 

" You know the meaning of my promise," 
said he sternly, "the first beast of burden, 
with its load, that should enter this portal. 
Take the strongest mule in my stables, load 
it with the most precious things of my trea- 
sury, and it is yours, but dare not to think 
that I shall give you the princess." 

" What need I of wealth ? " cried the Arab 
scornfully. "The princess is mine by right. 
Your word is pledged. I claim her as my 



own." 



The princess looked down haughtily from 
her palfrey, as she listened to this dispute 
between two gray heads. 

" Base son of the desert," cried the king, 
" you may be master of many arts, but know 
me for your master, and do not try to juggle 
with your king." 

" My master ! " echoed the Arab, " my king 
24 



indeed! Farewell, Aben Habuz, reign over 
your petty kingdom ! As for me, I shall laugh 
at you in my retirement." 

And saying this, he seized the bridle of the 
palfrey on which the princess was seated, 
smote the earth with his staff, and sank with 
her through the centre of the barbican. The 
earth closed and no trace remained of the 
opening. 

Aben Habuz was struck dumb for a time. 
Then he ordered a thousand workmen to dig 
into the ground where the Arab had disap- 
peared. They digged and digged, but in vain. 
As soon as they threw the earth out, it filled 
in again. They sought the Arab's cavern at 
the foot of the hill, but there was no entrance 
to be found. 

All of the king's talismans now ceased to 
be of use. The bronze horseman remained 
fixed with his face turned toward the hill and 
his spear pointed to the spot where the Arab 

25 



had descended^ as if there still lurked the 
king's deadliest foe. 

The top of the mountain, the site of the 
promised palace and garden, remained a 
desolate waste. And the neighbours of the 
king, finding him no longer protected by 
magic spell, invaded his lands from all sides, 
and the remainder of his life was a tissue of 
turmoils. 

At length Aben Habuz died and was buried. 

Ages have since rolled away. The Al- 
hambra has been built on the mountain, and 
in some measure resembles the fabled garden 
of Irem. The spell-bound gateway still stands 
with the mystic hand and key, and now forms 
the entrance to the fortress. Under the gate- 
way, it is said, the old Arab still remains in 
his underground cavern, nodding on his 
divan, lulled by the silver lyre of the princess. 

The old sentinels, who guard the gate, hear 
the music of the lyre sometimes in the sum- 
mer nights, and doze quietly at their posts. 

26 



It is said that even those who watch by day 
are generally found nodding on the stone 
benches, or sleeping under the trees, so that 
in truth it is the drowsiest military post in 
all the world. 

And the legends tell us that this will 
endure. From age to age the Christian prin- 
cess will remain a captive to the old Arab, 
and by the music of her lyre he will remain 
in magic slumber, unless the mystic hand 
shall grasp the fated key and dispel the 
whole charm of this enchanted mountain. 



Be^en^ of 




B^5^n^ of 
(prince O^tneb af (KameC 

HERE was once a Moorish king 
of Granada, who had but one 
son, whom he named Ahmed, 
to which his courtiers added the 
surname of al Kamel, or the Perfect, from 
the signs of super-excellence which they per- 
ceived in him in his very infancy. The as- 
trologers predicted everything in his favour 
that could make a perfect prince and a pros- 
perous sovereign. One cloud only rested 
upon his destiny. Unless he could be kept 
from falling in love until he was of mature 
age, he would run great perils. 

To prevent this danger, the king wisely 
determined to rear him in a seclusion where 
he would never see a woman. For this pur- 
ppse he built a beautiful palace on the brow 

31 



€aU0 from t^t l^t^cm&xa 

of the hill above the Alhambra, in the midst 
of delightful gardens, but surrounded by lofty 
walls, being, in fact, the same palace known 
at the present day as the Generalife. In this 
palace the youthful prince was shut up and 
entrusted to the care of Eben Bonabben, one 
of the wisest and dryest of Arabian sages, 
who had passed the greatest part of his life 
in Egypt, studying hieroglyphics, and making 
researches among the tombs and pyramids, 
and who saw more charms in an Egyptian 
mummy than in a living beauty. 

The prince grew up in the seclusion of the 
palace and its gardens, under the vigilant care 
of Eben Bonabben, who sought to instruct 
him in the abstruse lore of Egypt. But in 
this he made little progress, and it was 
soon evident that he had no turn for philo- 
sophy. 

He was, however, amazingly ductile for a 
youthful prince, ready to follow any advice, 
and always guided by the last counsellor. 

32 



&t^^^ of ^rinc^ (^^meb ai Mcimt( 

He suppressed his yawns, and listened pa- 
tiently to the long and learned discourse of 
Eben Bonabben, from which he imbibed a 
smattering of various kinds of knowledge, and 
thus happily attained his twentieth year, a 
miracle of princely wisdom. 

About this time, however, a change came 
over the conduct of the prince. He com- 
pletely abandoned his studies, and took to 
strolling about the gardens, and musing 
about the side of the fountains. He had been 
taught a little music among his various ac- 
complishments. It now engrossed a great 
part of his time, and a turn for poetry be- 
came apparent. The sage Eben Bonabben 
took the alarm, and endeavoured to work 
these idle humours out of him by a severe 
course of algebra: but the prince turned 
from it with distaste. 

"I cannot endure algebra," said he. "I 
want something that speaks more to the 
heart." 

33 



The sage Eben Bonabben shook his dry 
head at the words. 

" Here is an end to philosophy," thought 
he. "The prince has discovered he has a 
heart." 

As algebra was not to be mentioned, and 
he had exhausted almost all kinds of agree- 
able knowledge, he now tried to instruct 
him in the language of birds. This Eben 
Bonabben had learned in Egypt, and the 
prince applied himself to the study with such 
avidity that he soon became as great an 
adept as his master. 

The tower of the Generalife was no longer 
a solitude : he had companions at hand with 
whom he could converse. 

The first acquaintance he formed was with 
a hawk, who built his nest in a crevice of the 
lofty battlements, whence he soared far and 
wide in quest of prey. The prince, however, 
found little to like or esteem in him. He was 
a mere pirate of the air, swaggering and 
34 



&t^tx(i> of prince (5^m<^b at Mamd 

boastful, whose talk was all about carnage 
and desperate exploits. 

His next acquaintance was an owl, a wise- 
looking bird, with a huge head and staring 
eyes, who sat blinking and goggling all day 
in a hole in the wall, but roamed forth at 
night. He had great pretensions to wisdom, 
talked of the moon, hinted at the dark 
sciences, and was grievously given to meta- 
physics, and the prince found him even more 
ponderous than Eben Bonabben. 

Then there was a bat, that hung all day 
by his heels in the dark corner of a vault, 
but sallied out in slipshod style at twilight. 
He, however, had but twilight ideas on all sub- 
jects, and seemed to take delight in nothing. 

Besides these there was a swallow, with 
whom the prince was at first much taken. 
He was a smart talker, but restless, bustling, 
and forever on the wing. He turned out in 
the end to be a mere smatterer, who did but 
skim over the surface of things, pretending 
35 



to know everything, but knowing nothing 
thoroughly. 

These were the only feathered associates 
with whom he had any opportunity of ex- 
ercising his newly acquired language. The 
tower was too high for any other birds to 
frequent it. He soon grew weary of his new 
acquaintances whose conversation spoke so 
little to the head and nothing to the heart, 
and gradually relapsed into his loneliness. A 
winter passed away, spring opened with all 
its bloom and verdure, and the time arrived 
for birds to build their nests. Suddenly, as 
it were, a universal burst of song broke from 
the groves and gardens of the Generalife, 
and reached the prince in the solitude of his 
tower. From every side he heard the same 
universal theme — love — love — love — 
chanted, and responded to in every variety 
of note and tone. He listened in silence and 
perplexity. 

"What can this love be.?'' thought he, 
36 



^tQtnb of ^xinu ^^meb ai Mamtt 

" of which the world seems to be so full, 
and of which I know nothing?" 

He applied for information to his friend 
the hawk. The bird answered in a tone of 
scorn. 

" You must apply," said he, " to the vul- 
gar, peaceable birds of earth, who are made 
for the prey of us princes of the air. My trade 
is war, and fighting my delight. I am a war- 
rior, and know nothing of this thing called 
love." 

The prince [turned from him with disgust 
and sought the owl in his retreat. 

"This is a bird," said he, "of peaceful 
habits, and may be able to solve my ques- 
tion." 

So he asked the owl to tell him what was 
this love about which all the birds in the 
groves below were singing. 

Upon this the owl put on a look of of- 
fended dignity. 

" My time," said he, " is taken up with 
37 



study and research. As to these singing birds 
of whom you talk, I never listen to them — 
I despise them and their themes. Allah be 
praised, I cannot sing: I am a philosopher, 
and know nothing of this thing called love." 

The prince now repaired to the vault, 
where his friend the bat was hanging by the 
heels, and asked the same question. The bat 
wrinkled up his nose into a most snappish 
expression. 

"Why do you disturb me in my morning's 
nap with such an idle question?'' said he 
peevishly. " I only fly by twilight, when all 
birds are asleep, and never trouble my- 
self with their concerns. I am neither bird 
nor beast, and I thank Heaven for it. I have 
found out the villainy of the whole of them, 
and hate them one and all. I know nothing 
of this thing called love." 

As a last resort, the prince now sought the 
swallow, and stopped him just as he was cir- 
cling about the summit of the tower. The 

38 



&tQ^^ of prince (^^m^b aC Mamd 

swallow, as usual, was in a hurry, and had 
scarce time to make a reply. 

"Upon my word," said he, "I have so 
much public business to attend to, and so 
many pursuits to follow, that I have had no 
time to think on the subject. I have every 
day a thousand visits to pay; a thousand 
affairs of importance to examine into, that 
leaves me not a moment of leisure for these 
little sing-song matters. In a word, I am a 
citizen of the world — I know nothing of 
this thing called love." 

So saying, the swallow dived into the val- 
ley and was out of sight in a moment. 

The prince remained disappointed and 
perplexed, and while he was still in this 
mood, Eben Bonabben entered the tower. 
The prince advanced eagerly to meet him. 

"OEben Bonabben," cried he, "you have 
revealed to me much of the wisdom of the 
earth; but there is one thing of which I re- 
main in utter ignorance, and would fain be 
39 



informed. Tell me, most profound of sages, 
what is the nature of this thing called love ? " 

Eben Bonabben was struck as with a thun- 
derbolt. He trembled and turned pale, and 
felt as if his head sat but loosely on his shoul- 
ders. What could have suggested such a 
question to the prince ? Where could he have 
learnt so idle a word ? 

The prince led him to the window of the 
tower. 

" Listen, O Eben Bonabben," said he. The 
sage listened. The nightingale sat singing in 
the thicket below the tower, and from every 
grove rose a strain of melody; and love — 
love — love — was still the unvarying strain. 

" Allah Akbar! God is great! " cried the 
wise Bonabben. "Who shall pretend to 
keep this secret from the heart of man, 
when even the birds of the air conspire to 
betray it ? " 

Then turning to Ahmed: 

" O prince," cried he, " shut your ears to 
40 



&t^M^ of ^trinc^ (5§meb ai Mamtt 

these strains. Close your mind against this 
dangerous knowledge. Know that this love 
is the cause of half the ills of wretched mor- 
tality. It is this which produces bitterness 
and strife between brethren and friends; care 
and sorrow, weary days and sleepless nights, 
are its attendants. It withers the bloom and 
blights the joy of youth, and brings on the 
ills and griefs of premature age. Allah pre- 
serve you in total ignorance of this thing 
called love! " 

The sage Eben Bonabben hastily retired, 
leaving the prince plunged in still deeper 
perplexity. It was in vain he attempted to 
dismiss the subject from his mind. It still 
continued uppermost in his thoughts. 

"Surely," said he to himself, as he listened 
to the tuneful strains of the birds, " there is 
no sorrow in those notes. If love be a cause 
of such wretchedness and strife, why are not 
these birds drooping in solitude, or tearing 
each other in pieces, instead of fluttering 
41 



cheerfully about the groves, or sporting with 
each other among the flowers?" 

One morning, as the prince sat at his win- 
dow in the tower, there was a sudden rushing 
noise in the air. A beautiful dove, pursued by 
a hawk, darted in at the window, and fell 
panting on the floor, while the pursuer, balked 
of his prey, soared off to the mountains. 

The prince took up the gasping bird and 
smoothed its feathers. When he had soothed 
it, he put it in a golden cage, and offered it 
the finest and whitest of wheat and the purest 
of water. The bird, however, refused food, 
and sat drooping and pining, and uttering 
piteous moans. 

" Have you not everything your heart can 
wish?" said Ahmed. 

" Alas, no! " replied the dove. " Am I not 
separated from my mate and that too in the 
happy spring-time, the very season of love ? " 

" Pray, pretty bird," said the prince. " Can 
you then tell me what is love ? " 

42 



J 



&tQtt{b of ^xinu (^^m^b at Mamd 

"Too well can I," replied the dove. "It 
is the torment of one, the felicity of two, the 
strife and enmity of three. It is the charm 
which draws two beings together, and unites 
them by tender sympathies, making it hap- 
piness to be with each other, but misery to 
be apart. Is there no being to whom you are 
drawn by such ties ? " 

" I like my old teacher, Eben Bonabben, 
better than any other being. But he is often 
tedious, and I occasionally feel myself hap- 
pier without his society." 

" That is not the sympathy I mean. I speak 
of love, the great principle of life. Every 
created being has its mate. The very beetle 
wooes its lady-beetle in the dust. Is there no 
beautiful princess nor lovely damsel who 
has ensnared your heart?" 

" I begin to understand," said the prince, 
sighing. 

A little further conversation ensued, and 
the first lesson was complete. 
43 



" Alas ! " said he, " if love be such a de- 
light, and its interruption such a misery, 
Allah forbid that I should mar the joy of 
any of its votaries." 

He opened the cage, took out the dove, 
and carried it to the window. 

" Go, happy bird," said he, "rejoice with 
your mate in the days of youth and spring- 
time. Why should I make you a fellow pris- 
oner in this dreary tower, where love can 
never enter ? " 

The dove flapped its wings in rapture, gave 
one vault into the air, and then swooped down- 
ward to the blooming bowers of the Darro. 

A few mornings afterward, as the prince 
was ruminating on the battlements of the 
tower, the dove came hovering in the air, 
and alighted fearlessly upon his shoulder. 

" Happy bird," said he, "who can fly, as it 
were, with the wings of the morning to the 
uttermost parts of the earth, where have you 
been since we parted ? " 
44 



&tQM^ of i^xxnu (gl^meb at Mamd 

" In a far country, prince, whence I bring 
you tidings in reward for my liberty. In the 
wild compass of my flight, which extends 
over plain and mountain, as I was soaring in 
the air, I beheld below me a delightful garden 
with all kinds of fruits and flowers. It was in 
a green meadow, on the banks of a winding 
stream: and in the centre of the garden was 
a stately palace. I alighted in one of the 
bowers to rest after my weary flight. On the 
green bank below me was a youthful prin- 
cess. She was surrounded by female attend- 
ants, young like herself, who decked her with 
garlands, but no flower of the field could com- 
pare with her for loveliness. ' Here,' thought 
I, ^is the being formed by Heaven to in- 
spire my prince with love.' " 

The resolution of the prince was taken. 
He addressed a letter to the princess : " To 
the Unknown Beauty, from Ahmed al Ka- 
mel," and gave it to the dove. 

"Away, trustiest of messengers! " said he. 
45 



€ak& from t^^ ^t^am&xa 

" Fly over mountain and valley, river and 
plain. Rest not until you have given this 
letter to the princess." 

The dove soared high in the air, and tak- 
ing his course, darted away. The prince fol- 
lowed him with his eye until he was a mere 
speck on a cloud, and gradually disappeared 
behind a mountain. 

Day after day he watched for the return 
of the messenger, but he watched in vain. 
At last, one evening toward sunset, the faith- 
ful bird fluttered into his apartment, and, 
falling at his feet, expired. The arrow of 
some archer had pierced his breast, yet he 
had struggled with the lingerings of life to 
deliver the message. As the prince bent with 
grief over the gentle martyr, he beheld a 
chain of pearls round his neck, attached 
to which, beneath his wing, was a small 
enamelled picture. It represented a lovely 
princess in the very flower of her years, and 
was doubtless the unknown beauty of the 
46 



&t^M^ of prince (^^meb ai Mamtt 

garden. But who and where was she ? And 
was this picture sent as a token of her ap- 
proval of his letter ? Unfortunately the death 
of the faithful dove left everything in mystery 
and doubt. The prince gazed on the picture. 
" I will fly from this palace/' said he, " which 
has become an odious prison, and will seek 
this unknown princess throughout the world." 
To escape from the tower in the day, 
when every one was awake, might be a diflS- 
cult matter; but at night the palace was 
slightly guarded, for no one thought of the 
prince making any attempt of the kind. He 
had alwa3^s been passive in his captivity. 
How was he to guide himself, however, in 
his flight, being ignorant of the country? He 
bethought him of the owl, who was used to 
roaming at night, and must know every by- 
lane and secret path. Seeking him in his 
hermitage, he questioned him touching his 
knowledge of the land. Upon this the owl 
put on a mighty self-important look. 
47 



€cKkB from t^t (At^am&xa 

"You must know, O prince," said he, 
" that we owls are of a very ancient and ex- 
tensive family, though rather fallen to decay, 
and possess ruinous castles and palaces in 
all parts of Spain. There is scarcely a tower 
of the mountains, or a fortress of the plains 
or old citadel, but has some brother, or uncle, 
or cousin, quartered in it. And in going the 
rounds to visit my numerous kindred, I have 
pried into every nook and corner, and made 
myself acquainted with every secret of the 
land." 

The prince was overjoyed to find the owl 
so deeply versed in topography, and now in- 
formed him of his intended elopement, urg- 
ing him to be his companion and counsellor. 

" Go to! " said the owl, with a look of dis- 
pleasure. " Am I a bird to engage in such an 
affair as this ? — I whose whole time is de- 
voted to meditation and the moon? " 

" Be not offended, most solemn owl," re- 
plied the prince. "Abstract yourself for a 
48 



£^5^b of Qprince (^§meb aC Mamtt 

time from meditation and the moon. Aid me 
in my flight, and you shall have whatever 
heart can wish.'' 

" I have that already," said the owl. " A 
few mice are sufficient for my frugal table, 
and this hole in the wall is spacious enough 
for my studies. What more does a philoso- 
pher like myself desire ? " 

" But think, wise owl, that while moping 
in your cell and gazing at the moon, all your 
talents are lost to the world. I shall one day 
be a sovereign prince, and may advance you 
to some post of honour and dignity." 

The owl,thoughaphilosopher, and above the 
ordinary wants of life, was not above ambition, 
so he was finally prevailed on to elope with 
the prince and be his guide in the pilgrimage. 

The prince collected all his jewels, and 
concealed them about his person as travelling 
funds. That very night he lowered himself 
by his scarf from a balcony of the tower, 
clambered over the oiiter walls of the Gen- 

49 



eralife, and, guided by the owl, made good 
his escape before morning to the mountains. 

He now held a council with his guide as 
to his future course. 

"Might I advise," said the owl, "I 
would recommend you to repair to Seville. 
You must know that many years since I was 
on a visit to an uncle, an owl of great dig- 
nity and power, who lived in a ruined wing 
of the Alcazar. In my ho verings at night over 
the city, I frequently remarked a light burn- 
ing in a lonely tower. At length I alighted 
on the battlements, and found it to proceed 
from the lamp of an Arabian magician. He 
was surrounded by his magic books, and on 
his shoulder was perched an ancient raven, 
who had come with him from Egypt. I am 
acquainted with that raven, and owe to him 
a great part of the knowledge I possess. The 
magician is since dead, but the raven still 
inhabits the tower, for these birds are of 
wonderfully long life. I would advise you, 
50 



^e^^b of ^xxnu (^§meb ai Mamd 

O prince, to seek that raven, for like all 
ravens, especially those of Egypt, he is a re- 
nowned soothsayer and a conjuror." 

The prince was struck with the wisdom of 
this advice, and accordingly bent his course 
towards Seville. He travelled only in the 
night to accommodate his companion, and 
lay by during the day in some dark cavern 
or mouldering watch-tower, for the owl 
knew every hiding place of the kind, and 
had a great taste for ruins. 

At length one morning, at daybreak, they 
reached the city of Seville, where the owl, 
who hated the glare and bustle of crowded 
streets, halted without the gate, and took up 
his quarters in a hollow tree. 

The prince entered the gate and readily 
found the magic tower, which rose above the 
houses of the city as a palm tree rises above 
the shrubs of the desert. It was in fact the 
same as the tower standing to-day, and 
known as the Giralda. 
51 



€(Xit0 ftrom t^t ^t^cm&xci 

The prince ascended by a great winding 
staircase to the summit of the tower, where 
he found the raven — an old, mysterious, 
gray-headed bird, ragged in feather, with a 
film over one eye. He was perched on one 
leg, with his head turned on one side, por- 
ing with his remaining eye on a diagram 
described on the pavement. 

The prince approached him with awe and 
reverence. 

" Pardon me, most ancient and wise raven," 
exclaimed he, " if for a moment I interrupt 
those studies which are the wonder of the 
world. You behold in me a pilgrim of love, 
and I would seek your counsel how to ob- 
tain the object of my devotion." 

" And can you be at any loss for an object 
in Andalusia?" said the old raven, leering 
upon him with his single eye. " Above all, 
can you be at a loss in Seville, where black- 
eyed damsels dance the zambra under every 
orange grove ? " 

52 



B(^5^b of ^xxnct (^§meb at Mcmd 

The prince was somewhat shocked at 
hearing an old bird with one foot in the grave 
talk thus loosely. 

" Believe me," said he gravely, " I am on 
no such light errand as that. The black- 
eyed damsels of Andalusia who dance among 
the orange groves are naught to me. I seek 
the original of this picture. And I beseech 
you, most potent raven, if it be within the 
scope of your knowledge or reach of your 
art, inform me where she may be found." 

The gray-headed raven was rebuked by 
the gravity of the prince. 

" What know I," replied he dryly, " of 
youth and beauty? My visits are to the old 
and not the young and fair. I am the harbin- 
ger of fate who croak bodings of death from 
the chimney-top and flap my wings at the 
sick man's window. You must seek else- 
where for tidings of your unknown prin- 



cess." 



" And where can I seek if not among the 
53 



Zak^ from t^t f^i^am&xa 

sons of wisdom ? Know that I am a royal 
prince, fated by the stars, and sent on a mys- 
terious enterprise on which may hang the 
destiny of empires." 

When the raven heard that it was a mat- 
ter of vast moment, he changed his tone and 
manner, and listened with profound atten- 
tion to the story of the prince. When it was 
finished, he replied: 

" Touching this princess, I can give you 
no information of myself, for my flight is not 
among gardens, or around ladies' bowers. 
But go to Cordova, seek the palm tree which 
stands in the court of the principal mosque. 
At the foot of it you will find a great travel- 
ler who has visited all countries and courts. 
He will give you tidings of the object of 
your search." 

" Many thanks for this information," said 
the prince. " Farewell." 

" Farewell," said the raven dryly, and again 
fell to pondering on the diagram. 
54 



Si^ij^b of ^xintt (^^meb M Mamd 

The prince sallied forth from Seville, sought 
his fellow-traveller, the owl, who was still doz- 
ing in the hollow tree, and set off for Cordova. 

He approached it along hanging gardens, 
and orange and citron groves, overlooking 
the fair valley of the river. When they ar- 
rived at the city gates, the owl flew up to a 
dark hole in the wall, and the prince pro- 
ceeded in quest of the palm tree which had 
been planted in days of yore. It stood in the 
midst of the great court of the mosque tower- 
ing from amidst orange and cypress trees. 
Men were seated in groups under the cloisters 
of the court, and many of the faithful were 
washing at the fountains, before entering the 
mosque. 

At the foot of the palm tree was a crowd 
listening to the words of one who appeared 
to be a great talker. 

" This," said the prince to himself, " must 
be the great traveller who is to give me 
tidings of the unknown princess." 
55 



He mingled in the crowd, but was aston- 
ished to perceive that they were all listening 
to a parrot, who, with his bright-green coat, 
pragmatical eye and consequential top-knot, 
had the air of a bird on excellent terms with 
himself. 

" How is this," said the prince to one of 
the by-standers, " that so many grave persons 
can be delighted with a chattering bird?" 

'^You know not whom you speak of," 
said the other. " This parrot is a descendant 
of the famous parrot of Persia, renowned for 
his story-telling talent. He has all the learn- 
ing of the East at the tip of his tongue, and 
can quote poetry as fast as he can talk. He 
has visited various foreign courts, where he 
has been considered an oracle of erudition." 

" Enough," said the prince, '' I will have 
some private talk with this distinguished 
traveller." 

He sought a private interview, and told the 
parrot the nature of his errand. He had 
56 



BtQ^nb of ypmce @§m^b af Mamti 

scarcely mentioned it when the parrot burst 
into a fit of dry rickety laughter, that brought 
tears into his eyes. 

" Excuse my merriment," said he, " but 
the mere mention of love always sets me 
laughing." 

The prince was shocked at this ill-timed 
mirth. 

" Is not love," said he, "the universal bond 
of sympathy ? " 

" A fig's end!" cried the parrot, interrupt- 
ing him. " Prithee where have you learned 
this jargon? Trust me, love is quite out of 
vogue. One never hears of it in the company 
of wits and people of refinement." 

The prince sighed as he recalled the dif- 
ferent language of his friend the dove. He 
then directed his inquiries to the immediate 
purport of his visit. 

"Tell me," said he, "have you in the 
course of your travels met with the original 
of this portrait ? " 

"57 



The parrot took the picture in his claw, 
turned his head from side to side, and exam- 
ined it curiously with either eye. 

"Upon my honour," said he, "a very 
pretty face, a very pretty face. But then one 
sees so many pretty women in one's travels 
that one can hardly — but hold — bless me! 
now I look at it again — sure enough, this 
is the princess Aldegonda. How could I 
forget one who is such a favourite with 
me!" 

"The princess Aldegonda!" echoed the 
prince. "And where is she to be found?" 

" Softly, softly," said the parrot: "easier 
to be found than gained. She is the only 
daughter of the Christian king who reigns 
at Toledo, and is shut up from the world 
until her seventeenth birthday. You will not 
get a sight of her. No mortal man can see 
her. I was admitted to her presence to en- 
tertain her, and I assure you, on the word 
of a parrot who has seen the world, I have 
58 



&tQM^ of ^xxnct (§^mt^ at Mamtt 

conversed with much sillier princesses in 
my time." 

" A word in confidence, my dear parrot," 
said the prince. " I am heir to a kingdom, 
and shall one day sit upon a throne. I see 
that you are a bird of parts, and understand 
the world. Help me to gain possession of 
this princess, and I will advance you to some 
distinguished place about my court." 

"With all my heart," said the parrot. 
" But let it be a sinecure, if possible, for we 
wits have a great dislike to labour." 

Arrangements were promptly made. The 
prince sallied forth from Cordova through 
the same gate by which he had entered. He 
called the owl down from the hole in the 
wall, introduced him to his new travelling 
companion as a brother savant, and off they 
set on their journey. 

The prince was impatient, but they trav- 
elled much more slowly than he wished. 
The parrot was accustomed to high life, and 
59 



€cik0 ftom t^t @{f amfim 

did not like to be disturbed early in the 
morning. The owl, on the other hand, was 
for sleeping at mid-day, and lost a great deal 
of time by his long siestas. His antiquarian 
taste also was in the way, for he insisted on 
pausing and inspecting every ruin, and had 
long legendary tales to tell about every old 
tower and castle in the country. 

The prince had supposed that he and the 
parrot, being both birds of learning, would 
delight in each other's society, but never had 
he been more mistaken. They were eter- 
nally bickering. The one was a wit, the 
other a philosopher. The parrot quoted po- 
etry, was critical on new readings and elo- 
quent on small points of erudition: the owl 
treated all such knowledge as trifling, and 
cared for nothing but metaphysics. Then the 
parrot would sing songs and crack jokes 
upon his solemn neighbour, and laugh at 
his own wit. The owl considered all this as 
an invasion on his dignity, and he would 
60 ^ 



* 



Bt^M^ of ^xxnu (^§meb ctC Mamd 

scowl and sulk and swell, and be silent for 
a whole day together. 

The prince, being wrapped up in the 
dreams of his own fancy, gave no heed to 
the wranglings of his companions. In this 
way they journeyed through the stern passes 
of the mountains, across the sunburnt plains 
of La Mancha and Castile, and along the 
banks of the Tagus, which winds its wiz- 
ard mazes over one half of Spain and Por- 
tugal. 

At length they came in sight of a strong 
city with walls and towers built on a rocky 
promontory, round the foot of which the 
Tagus circled with brawling violence. 

"Behold!" exclaimed the owl, " the an- 
cient city of Toledo. Behold those venerable 
domes and towers, in which so many of my 
ancestors have meditated." 

" Pish ! " cried the parrot, interrupting his 
solemn rapture. " What have we to do with 
legends and your ancestry.? Behold what is 
6i 



more to the purpose — behold at length, O 
prince, the abode of your long-sought prin- 



cess." 



The prince looked in the direction indi- 
cated by the parrot, and beheld, in a delight- 
ful green meadow on the banks of the Tagus, 
a stately palace rising from amidst the bow- 
ers of a garden. It was just such a place as 
had been described by the dove as the resi- 
dence of the original of the picture. He 
gazed at it with a throbbing heart. 

"Perhaps at this moment," thought he, 
" the beautiful princess is sporting beneath 
those shady bowers, or pacing with delicate 
step those stately terraces, or reposing be- 
neath those lofty roofs ! " 

As he looked more closely, he perceived 
that the walls of the garden were of great 
height, so as to defy access, while numbers 
of armed guards patrolled around them. 

The prince turned to the parrot. 

"Most accomplished of birds," said he, 
62 



&t^m\> of ^xxnu (^^meb at Mcmd 

" you have the gift of human speech ! Hie 
you to yon garden. Seek the princess, and 
tell her that Prince Ahmed, guided by the 
stars, has arrived in quest of her." 

The parrot, proud of his embassy, flew 
away to the garden, mounted above its lofty 
wall, and, after soaring for a time over the 
lawns and groves, alighted on the balcony 
of a pavilion that overhung the river. Here, 
looking in at the casement, he beheld the 
princess reclining on a couch, with her eyes 
fixed on a paper, while tears gently stole 
after each other down her pallid cheek. 

Pluming his wings for a moment, and ad- 
justing his bright-green coat, the parrot 
perched himself beside her with a gallant 
air. Then he assumed a tenderness of tone. 

"Dry your tears, most beautiful of prin- 
cesses," said he; "I come to bring solace to 
your heart." 

The princess was startled on hearing a 
voice, but turning and seeing nothing but a 
63 



little green-coated bird bobbing and bowing 
before her : 

" Alas ! what solace can you yield," said 
she, "seeing you are but a parrot? " 

The parrot was nettled at the question. 

" I have consoled many ladies in my time," 
said he ; " but let that pass. At present I come 
ambassador from a royal prince. Know that 
Ahmed, the prince of Granada, has arrived 
in quest of you, and is encamped even now 
on the banks of the Tagus." 

The eyes of the princess sparkled at these 
words. 

" O sweetest of parrots," cried she, "joy- 
ful indeed are your tidings, for I was faint 
and weary with doubt of the constancy of 
Ahmed. Tell him that the words of his letter 
are engraven in my heart, and that his poetry 
has been the food of my soul. Tell him, how- 
ever, that he must prepare to prove his love 
by force of arms. To-morrow is my seven- 
teenth birthday, when the king, my father, 

64 



&tQM^ of (ptince (^^tneb af Mcmd 

holds a great tournament. Several princes 
are to enter the lists, and my hand is to be 
the prize of the victor." 

The parrot again took wing, and flew back 
to where the prince awaited his return. The 
rapture of Ahmed on finding the original of 
the portrait, and finding her kind and true, 
can only be understood by those favoured 
mortals who have had the good fortune to 
realize day-dreams and turn a shadow into 
substance. 

Still there was one thing that alloyed his 
transport — this impending tournament. In 
fact, the banks of the Tagus were already 
glittering with arms, and resounding with 
trumpets of the various knights, who were 
prancing on toward Toledo. 

Like the prince, the princess had been 
shut up from the world until her seventeenth 
birthday, but the fame of her charms had 
been enhanced by this seclusion. Several 
powerful princes had contended for her hand; 

65 



and her father, who was a king of wondrous 
shrewdness, to avoid making enemies, had 
referred them all to the power of arms. 
Among the rival candidates were several re- 
nowned for strength and prowess. What a 
predicament for the unfortunate Ahmed, un- 
provided as he was with weapons, and un- 
skilled in the exercise of arms ! 

" Luckless prince that I am ! " said he, " to 
have been brought up in seclusion under the 
eye of a philosopher! " 

" Allah Akbar! God is great! " exclaimed 
the owl. " In his hands are all secret things : 
he alone governs the destinies of princes! 
Know, O prince, that this land is full of 
mysteries hidden from all but those who, 
like myself, can grope after knowledge in 
the dark. Know that in the neighbouring 
mountains there is a cave, and in that cave 
there is an iron table, and on that table there 
lies a suit of magic armour, and beside that 
table there stands a spell-bound steed, which 
66 



^t^ttib of ^xinct ^^meb ai Mam^i 

have been shut up there for many genera- 
tions." 

The prince stared with wonder. 

"Many years since," continued the owl, 
" I accompanied my father to these parts on 
a tour of his estates, and we sojourned in 
that cave; and thus I became acquainted 
with the mystery. It is a tradition in our 
family which I have heard from my grand- 
father, when I was yet but a very little owlet, 
that this armour belonged to a Moorish magi- 
cian who took refuge in this cavern when 
Toledo was captured by the Christians, and 
died here leaving his steed and weapons 
under a mystic spell, never to be used but by 
a Moslem, and by him only from sunrise to 
mid-day. In that time, whoever uses them 
will overthrow every opponent." 

"Enough: let us seek this cave!" ex- 
claimed Ahmed. 

Guided by the owl, the prince found the 
cavern, which was in a wild, rocky cliff. A 
67 



€ciU0 ftom t^t (^f^amfita 

lamp of everlasting oil shed a solemn light 
through the place. On an iron table in the 
centre of the cavern lay the magic armour, 
against it leaned the lance, and beside it 
stood an Arabian steed, ready for the field, 
but motionless as a statue. When Ahmed 
laid his hand upon the steed's neck, he pawed 
the ground and gave a loud neigh of joy that 
shook the walls of the cavern. Thus pro- 
vided with "horse and rider and weapon 
to wear," the prince determined to defy the 
field in the coming tourney. 

The eventful morning arrived. The lists 
for the combat were prepared in the Vega 
just below the walls of Toledo, where stages 
and galleries were erected for the specta- 
tors, covered with rich tapestry, and shel- 
tered from the sun by silken awnings. All 
the beauties of the land were assembled in 
those galleries, while below pranced plumed 
knights with their pages and esquires, among 

68 



whom were the princes who were to con- 
tend in the tourney. 

All the beauties of the land, however, 
were eclipsed when the princess Aldegonda 
appeared in the royal pavilion, and for the 
first time broke forth upon the gaze of an 
admiring world. 

The princess, however, had a troubled 
look. The colour came and went from her 
cheek, and her eye wandered with a restless 
expression over the plumed throng of knights. 
The trumpets were about sounding for the 
encounter, when the herald announced the 
arrival of a strange knight, and Ahmed rode 
into the field. 

A steel helmet rose above his turban. His 
cimeter and dagger were of the workman- 
ship of Fez, and flamed with precious stones. 
A round shield was at his shoulder, and in 
his hand he bore the charmed lance. The 
lofty and graceful demeanour of the prince 
struck every eye, and when his name was 

69 



€cik0 ftrom i^e (^i^am&xa 

announced, a flutter prevailed among the 
fair dames in the gallery. 

When Ahmed presented himself at the 
lists, however, they were closed against him. 
None but princes, he was told, were ad- 
mitted to the contest. He declared his name 
and rank. Still worse ! — he was a Moslem, 
and could not engage in a tourney when the 
hand of a Christian princess was the prize. 

With haughty looks the rival princes sur- 
rounded him ; and one sneered at his light 
and youthful form. The ire of the prince was 
aroused. He defied his rival to an encounter. 
They took distance, wheeled and charged; 
and at the first touch of the magic lance the 
scoffer was tilted from his saddle. 

Here the prince would have paused, but, 
alas! nothing would control his horse and 
armour. The Arabian steed charged into the 
thickest of the throng. The lance overturned 
everything that presented. The gentle prince 
was carried pell-mell about the field, strew- 

70 



^^5^b of ^xxnct (^§meb ai Mamti 

ing it with high and low, gentle and simple. 
The king stormed and raged at this outrage 
on his subjects and his guests. He ordered 
out his guards — they were unhorsed as fast 
as they came up. The king threw off his 
robes, grasped buckler and lance, and rode 
forth to awe the stranger with the presence 
of majesty itself. Alas ! majesty fared no bet- 
ter than the vulgar. The steed and lance were 
no respecters of persons. To the dismay of 
Ahmed, he was borne full tilt against the king, 
and in a moment the royal heels were in the 
air, and the crown was rolling in the dust. 

At this moment the sun reached the me- 
ridian. The magic spell resumed its power. 
The Arabian steed scoured across the plain, 
leaped the barrier, plunged into the Tagus, 
swam its raging torrent, bore the prince 
breathless and amazed to the cavern, and 
resumed his station beside the iron table. 

The prince dismounted right gladly, and 
replaced the armour. Then he seated him- 

71 



self in the cavern, and began to think. Never 
again should he dare to show his face at To- 
ledo after inflicting such disgrace upon its 
chivalry, and such an outrage on its king. 
What, too, would the princess think ? Full of 
anxiety, he sent forth his winged messengers 
to gather tidings. 

The parrot resorted to all the public places 
and crowded resorts of the city, and soon 
returned with a world of gossip. All Toledo 
was in consternation. The princess had been 
borne oflT senseless to the palace. The tour- 
nament had ended in confusion. Every one 
was talking of the Moslem knight. Some 
thought him a Moorish magician; while 
others thought he might be one of the en- 
chanted warriors who were said to be hid- 
den in the caves of the mountains. All agreed 
that no ordinary mortal could have wrought 
such wonders. 

The owl flew out at night and hovered 
about the dusky city, perching on the roofs 

72 



;S^5^b of ^xinct (§^mt)> a( Mcmd 

and chimneys. He then wheeled his flight 
up to the royal palace, and went prowling 
about, eavesdropping at every cranny, and 
glaring in with his big goggling eyes at every 
window where there was a light, so as to 
throw two or three maids of honour into fits. 
It was not until the grey dawn began to peer 
above the mountains that he returned from 
his expedition and related to the prince what 
he had seen. 

" As I was prying about one of the loftiest 
towers of the palace," said he, " I beheld 
through a casement a beautiful princess. She 
was reclining on a couch, with attendants 
and physicians around her, but she would 
have none of their ministry and relief. When 
they retired, I beheld her draw a letter from 
her bosom, and read it, and give way to loud 
lamentations, at which, philosopher as I am, 
I could but be greatly moved." 

Ahmed was distressed at these tidings. 

"Too true were your words, O Eben Bon- 
73 



€ak$ from t^t (§t^am&xa 

abben! " cried he. "Care and sorrow, and 
sleepless nights are the lot of lovers. Allah 
preserve the princess from the blighting in- 
fluence of this thing called love." 

Further news from Toledo showed that 
the report of the owl was true. The city was 
a prey to uneasiness and alarm. The prin- 
cess was conveyed to the highest tower of 
the palace, every avenue to which was 
strongly guarded. In the meantime, a de- 
vouring melancholy had seized upon her, of 
which no one could divine the cause. She 
refused food, and turned a deaf ear to every 
consolation. The most skilful physicians 
had essayed their art in vain. It was thought 
some magic spell had been practised upon her, 
and the king made proclamation, declaring 
that whoever should effect her cure should 
receive the richest jewel in the royal treasury. 

When the owl, who was dozing in a cor- 
ner, heard of this, he rolled his large eyes 
and looked more mysterious than ever. 
74 



^e^^b of ^xxnu (^§m<^b af Mamd 

" Allah Akbar ! " exclaimed he, "happy 
the man that shall effect that cure, should 
he but know what to choose from the royal 
treasury." 

" What mean you, most reverend owl ? " 
said Ahmed. 

" Hearken, prince, to what I shall relate. 
We owls, you must know, are a learned 
body, and much given to dark and dusty re- 
search. During my late prowling at night 
about the domes and turrets of Toledo, I 
discovered a college of owls, who hold their 
meetings in a great vaulted tower where the 
royal treasury is deposited. Here they were 
discussing ancient gems and jewels, and 
golden and silver vessels, heaped up in the 
treasury, the fashion of every country and 
age. But mostly they were interested about 
certain relics and talismans which have re- 
mained in the treasury since the time of 
Roderick the Goth. Among them was a 
box of sandal-wood, secured by bands of 
75 



^afe0 from t^t (^C^amfira 

steel, and inscribed with mystic characters 
known only to the learned few. This box 
and inscription had occupied the college for 
several sessions, and had caused much long 
and grave dispute. At the time of my visit a 
very ancient owl, who had recently arrived 
from Egypt, was seated on the lid of the box 
lecturing upon the inscription, and he proved 
from it that the coffer contained the silken 
carpet of the throne of Solomon the Wise." 

When the owl had concluded his harangue, 
the prince remained for a time absorbed in 
thought. 

" I have heard," said he, " from the sage 
Eben Bonabben of the wonderful properties 
of that talisman, which disappeared at the 
fall of Jerusalem and was supposed to be lost 
to mankind. Doubtless it remains a sealed 
mystery to the Christians of Toledo. If I can 
get possession of the carpet, my fortune is 
secure." 

The next day the prince laid aside his rich 
76 



attire, and arrayed himself in the simple 
garb of an Arab of the desert. He dyed his 
complexion to a tawny hue, and no one 
could have recognized in him the splendid 
warrior who had caused such admiration 
and dismay at the tournament. With staff in 
hand, and a small pastoral reed, he repaired 
to Toledo, and presenting himself at the gate 
of the royal palace, announced himself as a 
candidate for the reward offered for the cure 
of the princess. The guards would have 
driven him away with blows. 

"What can a vagrant Arab like you pre- 
tend to do," said they, " in a case where the 
most learned of the land have failed?" 

The king, however, overheard, and or- 
dered the Arab to be brought into his pre- 
sence. 

" Most potent king," said Ahmed, " you 
behold before you a Bedouin Arab, the 
greater part of whose life has been passed in 
the solitudes of the desert. These solitudes, 

77 



it is well known, are the haunts of demons 
and evil spirits, who beset us poor shepherds 
in our lonely watchings, enter into and pos- 
sess our flocks and herds, and sometimes 
render even the patient camel furious. 
Against these, our counter-charm is music : 
and we have legendary airs handed down 
from generation to generation, that we chant 
and pipe, to cast forth these evil spirits. I 
am of a gifted line, and possess this power in 
its fullest force. If it be any evil influence of 
the kind that holds a spell over your daugh- 
ter, I pledge my head to free her from its 
sway." 

The king, who was a man of understand- 
ing, and knew the wonderful secrets often 
possessed by the Arabs, was inspired with 
hope by the language of the prince. He 
conducted him immediately to the lofty tower, 
in the summit of which was the chamber of 
the princess. The windows opened upon a 
terrace, commanding a view over Toledo and 

78 



iSe^mb of ^nnce (?l^m^b ai Mamtt 

all the surrounding country. The windows 
were darkened, for the princess lay within, 
a prey to devouring grief. 

The prince seated himself on the terrace, 
and performed on his pastoral pipe several 
wild Arabian airs which he had learnt from 
his attendants in the Generalife at Granada. 
The princess continued insensible, and the 
doctors who were present shook their heads, 
and smiled with contempt. At length the 
prince laid aside the reed, and, to a simple 
melody, chanted the verses of the letter 
which he had sent to the princess. 

The princess recognized the strain — she 
raised her head and listened. She would have 
asked for the minstrel to be brought into 
her presence, but maiden coyness held her 
silent. The king read her wishes, and at his 
command Ahmed was conducted into the 
chamber. The prince and princess exchanged 
glances which spoke volumes. Never was 
triumph of music more complete. The rose 

79 



t^akB from t^t (^t^cm&xa 

had returned to the soft cheek of the prin- 
cess, and the light to her eyes. 

All the physicians present stared at each 
other with astonishment. The king regarded 
the Arab minstrel with admiration and awe. 

"Wonderful youth! "exclaimed he, "you 
shall henceforth be the first physician of my 
court, and no other prescription will I take 
but your melody. For the present receive 
your reward, the most precious jewel in my 
treasury." 

"O king," replied Ahmed, "I care not for 
silver or gold or precious stones. You have 
one relic in your treasury, handed down 
from the Moslems, who once owned Toledo 
— a box of sandal- wood containing a silken 
carpet. Give me that box, and I am con- 
tent." 

All present were surprised at the modera- 
tion of the Arab, and still more when the 
box of sandal-wood was brought and the 
carpet drawn forth. It was of fine green silk. 

80 



Se^^b of prince @^meb at Mamti 

The court physicians looked at each other, 
shrugged their shoulders, and smiled. 

" This carpet," said the prince, " once 
covered the throne of Solomon. It is worthy 
of being placed beneath the feet of beauty." 

So saying, he spread it on the terrace be- 
neath an ottoman that had been brought to 
the princess — then seating himself at her 
feet: 

" Who," said he, " shall counteract what 
is written in the book of fate? Behold the 
prediction of the astrologers verified. Know, 
O king, that your daughter and I have long 
loved each other in secret." 

These words were scarcely said when the 
carpet rose in the air, bearing off the prince 
and princess. The king and the physicians 
gazed after it with open mouths and strain- 
ing eyes until it became a little speck, and 
then disappeared in the blue vault of Heaven. 

The king in a rage summoned his trea- 
surer. 

8i 



€ciit& from i^t (§t^am&xa 

"How is this," said he, "that you have 
suffered an infidel to get possession of such 
a talisman? " 

" Alas, sir, we knew not its nature. If it 
be indeed the carpet of the throne of Solo- 
mon, it is possessed of magic power, and can 
transport its owner from place to place 
through the air." 

The king assembled a mighty army, and 
set off for Granada in pursuit of the fugitives. 
His march was long and toilsome. Encamp- 
ing in the Vega, he sent a herald to demand 
his daughter. The king of Granada himself 
came forth with all his court to meet him, 
and in him the Christian king beheld the 
minstrel, for Ahmed had succeeded to the 
throne on the death of his father, and the 
beautiful Aldegonda was the sultana. 

The Christian king was easily pacified 
when he found that his daughter continued 
in his faith; not that he was particularly 
pious, but religion is always a point of pride 

82 









ii»«a»|KlKnei»iie; 



BtQm^ of ^tinc^ ^^mtl ai Mamd 

and etiquette with princes. Instead of battles, 
there was a succession of feasts and rejoicings, 
after which the king returned well pleased to 
Toledo, and the youthful couple continued to 
reign as happily as wisely in the Alhambra. 

It is proper to add that the owl and the 
parrot had severally followed the prince by 
easy stages to Granada: the former travel- 
ling by night, and stopping at the various he- 
reditary possessions of his family — the latter 
figuring in gay circles of every town and 
city on his route. 

Ahmed gratefully requited the services 
which they had rendered on his pilgrimage. 
He appointed the owl his prime minister, 
and the parrot his master of ceremonies. It 
is needless to say that never was a realm 
more sagely administered, nor a court con- 
ducted with more exact punctilio. 



Be^enb of 
Cpe (moot'0 Be^ac^ 




Bt^tn'b of 

UST within the fortress of the 
•^^ Alhambra, in front of the royal 
palace, is a broad open space, 
called the Place of the Cisterns, 
so called from being undermined by reser- 
voirs of water. At one corner of this place 
is a Moorish well, cut through the rock to a 
great depth, the water of which is cold as ice 
and clear as crystal. This well is famous 
throughout Granada, and water-carriers, 
some bearing great water-jars on their shoul- 
ders, others driving donkeys before them 
laden with earthen vessels, are going up and 
down the woody avenues, from early morn- 
ing until a late hour of the night. 

Fountains and wells have always been 
noted gossiping-places in hot climates; and 

87 



at this well there is a kind of perpetual club 
kept up during the livelong day, by the in- 
valids, old women, and other curious do- 
nothing folk, who sit on the stone benches, 
and dawdle over the gossip of the fortress, 
and question every water-carrier that arrives 
about the news of the city, and make long 
comments on everything they hear and see. 
Not an hour of the day but loitering house- 
wives and idle maid-servants may be seen, 
lingering with pitcher on head or in hand, to 
hear the last of the endless tattle. 

Among the water-carriers who once re- 
sorted to this well, there was a sturdy, strong- 
backed, bandy-legged little fellow, named 
Pedro Gil, but called Peregil for shortness. 
Like all the water-carriers he was a Gallego, 
or native of Gallicia. 

Peregil had begun business with merely 
a great earthen jar which he carried upon 
his shoulder; but by degrees he rose in the 
world, and was enabled to purchase a don- 

88 



BtQtnb of t^t (moov'^ ^t^at^z 

key. On each side of his long-eared com- 
panion, in a kind of pannier, were slung his 
water-jars, covered with fig-leaves to protect 
them from the sun. There was not a more 
industrious water-carrier in all Granada, nor 
one more merry withal. The streets rang 
with his cheerful voice as he trudged after 
his donkey, singing the usual summer note 
that resounds throughout the Spanish towns: 

"Who wants water — water colder than 
snow? Who wants water from the well of 
the Alhambra, cold as ice and clear as 
crystal ? " 

When he served a customer with a spark- 
ling glass, it was always with a pleasant word 
that caused a smile; and if, perchance, it was 
a comely dame or dimpling damsel, it was 
always with a sly leer and a compliment to 
her beauty that was irresistible. Thus Pere- 
gil was noted throughout all Granada for 
being one of the civilest, pleasantest, and 
happiest of mortals. Yet it is not he who 

89 



sings loudest and jokes most that has the 
lightest heart. Under all this air of merri- 
ment, honest Peregil had his cares and 
troubles. He had a large family of ragged 
children to support, who were hungry and 
clamorous as a nest of young swallows, and 
beset him with their outcries for food when- 
ever he came home of an evening. 

He had a wife, too, who was anything but 
a help to him. She had been a village beauty 
before marriage, noted for her skill at danc- 
ing the bolero and rattling the castanets; and 
she still retained her early propensities, 
spending the hard earnings of honest Peregil 
in frippery, and laying the very donkey un- 
der requisition for junketing parties into the 
country on Sundays and Saints' Days, and 
those innumerable holidays, which are rather 
more numerous in Spain than the days of 
the week. With all this she was a little of a 
slattern, something more of a lie-abed, and, 
above all, a gossip of the first water; neg- 

90 



&t^M}> of t^^ (Wloot'je^ Bt^at^ 

lecting house, household, and everything 
else, to loiter slipshod in the houses of her 
gossip neighbours. 

He, however, who tempers the wind to 
the shorn lamb, accommodates the yoke of 
matrimony to the submissive neck. Peregil 
bore all the heavy dispensations of wife and 
children with as meek a spirit as his donkey 
bore the water-jars ; and, however he might 
shake his ears in private, never ventured to 
question the household virtues of his slattern 
spouse. 

He loved his children, too, even as an owl 
loves its owlets, seeing in them his own im- 
age multiplied and perpetuated; for they 
were a sturdy, long-backed, bandy-legged, 
little brood. The great pleasure of honest 
Peregil was, whenever he could afford him- 
self a scanty holiday, to take the whole litter 
with him, some in his arms, some tugging 
at his skirts, and some trudging at his heels, 
and to treat them to a gambol among the 

91 



orchards of the Vega, while his wife was 
dancing with her holiday friends in the An- 
gosturas of the Darro. 

It was a late hour one summer night, and 
most of the water-carriers had desisted from 
their toils. The day had been uncommonly 
sultry. The night was one of those delicious 
moonlights which tempt the inhabitants of 
summer climes to linger in the open until 
after midnight. Customers for water were 
therefore still abroad. Peregil, like a con- 
siderate, painstaking father, thought of his 
hungry children. 

" One more journey to the well," said he 
to himself, " to earn a Sunday's puchero for 
the little ones." 

So saying, he trudged up the steep avenue 
of the Alhambra, singing as he went, and 
now and then bestowing a hearty thwack 
with a cudgel on the flanks of his donkey, 
either by way of cadence to the song, or re- 

92 



JSi^5^b of t^(^ (Tnoov'0 &tQCiC^ ' 

freshment to the animal ; for dry blows serve 
in lieu of provender in Spain for all beasts 
of burden. 

When arrived at the well, he found it de- 
serted by every one except a solitary stranger 
in Moorish garb, seated on a stone bench in 
the moonlight. Peregil paused at first and 
regarded him with surprise, not unmixed 
with awe, but the Moor feebly beckoned him 
to approach. 

" I am faint and ill," said he : " aid me to 
return to the city, and I will pay you double 
what you could gain by your jars of water." 

The honest heart of the little water-carrier 
was touched at the appeal of the stranger. 

" God forbid," said he, " that I should ask 
fee or reward for doing an act of kindness," 

He accordingly helped the Moor on his 
donkey, and set off slowly for Granada, the 
poor Moslem being so weak that it was ne- 
cessary to hold him on the animal to keep 
him from falling to the ground. 

93 



When they entered the city, the water- 
carrier demanded whither he should conduct 
him. 

"Alas!" said the Moor faintly, " I have 
neither home nor habitation; lam a stranger 
in the land. Suffer me to lay my head this 
night beneath your roof, and you shall be 
amply repaid." 

Honest Peregil thus saw himself unex- 
pectedly saddled with an infidel guest, but 
he was too humane to refuse a night's shel- 
ter to a fellow-being in so forlorn a plight; 
so he conducted the Moor to his dwelling. 
The children, who had sallied forth open- 
mouthed, as usual, on hearing the tramp of 
the donkey, ran back with affright when they 
beheld the turbaned stranger and hid them- 
selves behind their mother. The latter stepped 
forth like a ruffling hen before her brood. 

" What infidel companion," cried she, "is 
this you have brought home at this late 
hour?" 

94 



&tQtr(b of t^t (jnoot^if Bt^ac^ 

"Be quiet, wife," replied Peregil: "here 
is a poor sick stranger, without friend or 
home. Would you turn him forth to perish 
in the streets?" 

The wife would still have remonstrated, 
for although she lived in a hovel, she was 
a furious stickler for the credit of her house. 
The little water-carrier, however, was for 
once stiff-necked, and refused to bend be- 
neath the yoke. He assisted the poor Moslem 
to alight, and spread a mat and a sheepskin 
for him on the ground, in the coolest part 
of the house, being the only kind of bed 
that he had. 

In a little while the Moor was seized with 
violent convulsions, which defied all the 
skill of the water-carrier. He called Peregil 
to his side and addressing him in a low voice : 

" My end," said he, "I fear is at hand. If 
I die, I bequeath you this box as a reward 
for your charity." 

So saying, he opened his cloak, and showed 
95 



a small box of sandal-wood, strapped round 
his body. 

" God grant, my friend," replied the little 
Gallego, " that you may live many years to 
enjoy your treasure, whatever it may be." 

The Moor shook his head. He laid his 
hand upon the box, and would have said 
something more about it, but his convulsions 
returned, and in a little while he expired. 

The water-carrier's wife was now as one 
distracted. 

"This comes," said she, " of your foolish 
good nature, always running into scrapes to 
oblige others. What will become of us when 
this corpse is found in our house ? We shall 
be sent to prison as murderers." 

Poor Peregil almost repented of having 
done a good deed, for, in truth, he was as 
distracted as his wife. At length a thought 
struck him. 

" It is not yet day," said he. " I can con- 
vey the dead body out of the city, and bury 

96 



JS^(5enb of t^t (WVoot'j5 M^ac^ 

it in the sands on the banks of the Xenil. 
No one saw the Moor enter our dwelling, 
and no one will know anything of his death." 
So said, so done. The wife aided him: they 
rolled the body of the Moor in the mat on 
which he had expired, laid it across the 
donkey, and Peregil set out with it for the 
banks of the river. 

As ill-luck would have it, there lived op- 
posite to the water-carrier a barber named 
Pedrillo Pedrugo, one of the most prying, 
tattling, and mischief-making of his gossip 
tribe. He was a weasel-faced, spider-legged 
varlet. The famous barber of Seville could 
not surpass him for his universal knowledge 
of the affairs of others, and he had no more 
power of retention than a sieve. It was said 
that he slept with but one eye at a time, and 
kept one ear uncovered, so that even in his 
sleep he might see and hear all that was 
going on. Certain it is, he was a sort of 

97 



€aUB from t^t (^Cfamfim 

chronicle for the quidnuncs of Granada, and 
had more customers than all the rest of his 
fraternity. 

You may be sure that he heard Peregil 
arrive at an unusual hour of the night. His 
head was instantly popped out of a little win- 
dow which served him as a look-out, and he 
saw his neighbour assist a man in Moorish 
garb into his dwelling. This was so strange 
an occurrence, that Pedrillo Pedrugo slept 
not a wink that night. Every five minutes 
he was at his loophole, watching the lights 
that gleamed through the chinks of PeregiPs 
door, and before daylight he beheld Peregil 
sally forth with his donkey unusually laden. 

The barber was in a fidget. He slipped 
on his clothes, and silently followed the water- 
carrier at a distance, until he saw him dig a 
hole in the sandy bank of the Xenil, and 
bury the dead body. 

He then went back to his shop. At sun- 
rise he took a basin under his arm, and sal- 

98 



lied forth to the house of his daily customer, 
the alcalde. The alcalde was just risen. 
Pedrillo Pedrugo seated him in a chair, 
threw a napkin round his neck, put a basin 
of hot water under his chin, and began his 
work. 

" Strange doings," said he : " robbery and 
murder and burial all in one night! " 

" Hey ! — how ! — what is that you say ? " 
cried the alcalde. 

" I say," replied the barber, rubbing a piece 
of soap over the nose and mouth of the dig- 
nitary, — "I say that Peregil the Gallego has 
robbed and murdered a Moor, and buried 
him this blessed night. Accursed be the night 
for the same ! " 

" But how do you know all this ? " de- 
manded the alcalde. 

" Be patient, Senor, and you shall hear all 
about it," replied Pedrillo, taking him by the 
nose and sliding a razor over his cheek. He 
then told all he had seen, shaving his beard, 

99 



and washing his chin, while he was robbing, 
murdering, and burying the Moor. 

Now it so happened that this alcalde was 
one of the most overbearing and greedy 
judges in all Granada. It could not be denied, 
however, that he set a high value upon jus- 
tice, for he sold it at its weight in gold. He 
presumed the case in point to be one of mur- 
der and robbery. Doubtless there must be a 
rich spoil. It was not long before he had the 
poor water-carrier before him. 

"Hark you, culprit," roared he in a 
voice that made little Peregil's knees shake, 
"everything is known to me. A gallows is 
the proper reward for the crime you have 
committed, but I am merciful. The man 
that has been murdered in your house was 
a Moor, an infidel, the enemy of our faith. 
Render up the property of which you have 
robbed him, and we will hush the matter up." 

The poor water-carrier called upon all the 
saints, but alas! not one of them appeared. 



lOO 



BtQM'b of iS}t (ttloot^ief Bt^ctc^ 

He related the whole story of the dying 
Moor truthfully, but it was all in vain. 

"Will you persist in saying," demanded 
the judge, "that this Moslem had neither 
gold nor jewels?" 

" He had nothing but a small box of san- 
dal-wood," said Peregil, " which he gave me 
in reward for my services." 

"A box of sandal-wood! a box of san- 
dal-wood!" exclaimed the alcalde, his eyes 
sparkling at the idea of jewels. "And where 
is this box? Where have you concealed it?" 

" Please, your grace," replied the water- 
carrier, " it is in one of the panniers of my 
mule, and heartily at the service of your 
worship." 

He had hardly spoken the words, when 
the keen alguazil darted off, and reappeared 
in an instant with the box of sandal-wood. 
The judge opened it with an eager and trem- 
bling hand. All pressed forward to gaze 
upon the treasure it was expected to con- 



lOI 



tain; when, to their disappointment, nothing 
appeared within but a parchment scroll, 
covered with Arabic characters, and an end 
of a waxen taper. 

The alcalde, finding that there was no 
booty in the case, discharged Peregil from 
arrest, permitting him to carry off the Moor's 
legacy, the box of sandal- wood and its con- 
tents; but alas, he kept his donkey in pay- 
ment of costs and charges. 

Poor unfortunate Peregil I He now had to 
be his own water-carrier and trudge up to 
the well of the Alhambra with a great earthen 
jar upon his shoulder. As he toiled up the 
hill in the heat of a summer noon, his usual 
good humour forsook him. 

" Dog of an alcalde ! " would he cry, " to 
rob a poor man of the best friend he had in 
the world!" 

And then at the remembrance of his be- 
loved companion, he would exclaim: 
1 02 



&^QM)> of t^t (JUoot'^ Bt^ac^i 

"Ah, donkey of my heart! I warrant me 
you think of your old master ! I warrant me 
you miss the water-jars — poor beast! " 

To add to his trouble, he had to endure 
the railings and reproaches of his wife. He 
was much grieved in flesh and spirit. At 
length, one evening, when, after a hot day's 
toil, she was scolding him as usual, he seized 
the sandal-wood box, and dashed it to the 
floor. 

" Unlucky was the day I ever set eyes on 
you," he cried, "or sheltered your master 
beneath my roof." 

As the box struck the floor, the lid flew 
open, and the parchment scroll rolled forth. 

"Who knows," thought Peregil, "but 
this may be of some importance, as the 
Moor seems to have guarded it with such 
care ? " 

Picking it up, therefore, he put it in his 
bosom, and the next morning, as he was cry- 
ing water through the streets, he stopped 
103 



€ciU0 ftom t^t ^(^antfim 

at the shop of a Moor, a native of Tangiers, 
and asked him to explain the contents. 

The Moor read the scroll attentively. 

" This manuscript," he said, " is a form 
of incantation for the recovery of enchanted 
treasures." 

"Bah!" cried the little Gallego, "what is 
all that to me ? I am no enchanter." 

So saying, he took his water-jar and trudged 
forward on his daily rounds. 

That evening, however, as he rested him- 
self about twilight at the well, he heard some 
of the gossips who had gathered at the place 
— they were as poor as rats — talking about 
the enchanted riches left by the Moors 
in different parts of the Alhambra. They 
told marvellous tales of the treasures which 
they believed were buried deep in the earth 
under the tower of the s*even floors. These 
stories made an unusual impression on the 
mind of the honest Peregil, and they sank 
deeper and deeper into his thoughts as 
104 



£e5<^b of ti}t (JUoOt'0 &tQCiC1^ 

he returned alone down the darkling ave- 
nues. 

"If, after all," thought he, "there should 
be treasure hid beneath that tower; and if 
the scroll I left with the Moor should enable 
me to get at it!" 

He well nigh let fall his water-jar at the 
thought. 

That night he tumbled and tossed, and 
could scarcely get a wink of sleep for his 
thoughts. Bright and early he went again to 
the Moor's shop and told him all that was 
passing in his mind. ' 

" You can read Arabic," said he : " sup- 
pose we go together to the tower, and try 
the effect of the charm; if it fails, we are 
no worse off than before; but if it succeeds, 
we will share equally all the treasure we 
may discover." 

"This writing is not sufficient of itself," 
said the Moor: "it must be read at midnight, 
by the light of a taper singularly prepared of 
105 



certain ingredients, which are not within my 
reach. Without such a taper the scroll is of 
no avail." 

"Say no more!" cried the little Gallego. 
" I have such a taper at hand, and will bring 
it here in a moment." 

So saying, he hastened home, and soon re- 
turned with the end of a yellow wax taper 
that he had found in the box of sandal-wood. 
The Moor smelt of it. 

" Here are rare and costly perfumes," said 
he. "While this burns, the strongest walls 
and most secret caverns will remain open, 
but woe to him who lingers within until it 
goes out. He will remain enchanted with the 
treasure." 

It was now agreed between them to try the 
charm that very night. At a late hour when 
only bats and owls were stirring, they climbed 
the woody hill of the Alhambra and made 
their way to the awful tower. By the light of a 
lantern the}^ groped their way through bushes, 

1 06 



&t^m^ of tSit QUoot'0 ^e^ac^ 

and over fallen stones, to the door of a vault 
beneath. With fear and trembling they de- 
scended a flight of steps cut into the rock. It 
led to an empty chamber, damp and drear. 
Then they went down another flight into a 
deeper vault, and so on until they had gone 
down four flights of stairs, and into four dif- 
ferent vaults. The floor of the fourth was 
solid. The air was damp and chilly. Here 
they waited until they heard the clock in the 
watchtower strike midnight. Then they lit 
the taper which diffused an odour of myrrh 
and frankincense and storax. 

The Moor began to read in a hurried voice. 
He had scarce finished when there was a 
noise as of thunder beneath them. The earth 
shook, and the floor opened, showing a flight 
of steps. They went down and found them- 
selves in another vault covered with Arabic 
inscriptions. In the centre stood a great 
chest, secured with seven bands of steel, 
at each end of which sat an enchanted Moor 
107 



€ixk0 ftom t^t (Kt^ixm&xa 

in armour. Before the chest were several 
jars filled with gold and silver and precious 
stones. In the largest of these they thrust 
their arms up to the elbow, and at every 
dip hauled forth handfuls of broad pieces of 
Moorish gold, or bracelets and ornaments 
of the same precious metal. Sometimes a 
necklace of pearl would stick to their fingers. 
And all the time the enchanted Moors sat 
glaring at them with unwinking eyes. 

They fancied they heard a noise from above 
and both rushed up the staircase, falling over 
each other as they went. They overturned 
the waxen taper, and when it went out, the 
floor closed again with a thundering sound. 

Filled with dismay, they did not pause 
until they had groped their wa}^ out of the 
tower, and beheld the stars shining through 
the trees. Then seating themselves upon the 
grass, they divided their treasures and deter- 
mined to return some night for more. To 
make sure of each other's good faith, also, 



08 




' !^l^i? iJCjKey ia,ncled ikey keskrd a noise irom aWe |*^§. 



&^Qtnb of tS}t (JTloot'0 Mit^ac^ 

they divided the talismans between them, one 
taking the scroll, the other the taper. This 
done, they set off with light hearts and well- 
lined pockets for Granada. 

As they wended their way down the hill, 
the shrewd Moor whispered a word of coun- 
sel in the ear of the simple little water-carrier. 

" Friend Peregil," said he, " all this afTair 
must be kept a profound secret until we have 
secured the treasure, and conveyed it out of 
harm's way. If a whisper of it gets to the ear 
of the alcalde, we are undone!" 

" Certainly," replied the Gallego, " no- 
thing can be more true." 

" Friend Peregil," said the Moor, '' you are 
a discreet man, and can keep a secret, but you 
have a wife." 

"She shall not know a word of it," re- 
plied the little water-carrier sturdily. 

Never was promise more sincere; but 
alas ! what man can keep a secret from his 
wife? Certainly not such a one as Peregil 
109 



€ak& from t^t ^i^am&ta 

the water-carrier. On his return home, he 
found his wife moping in a corner. 

"You've come at last," she cried," after 
rambling about until this hour of the night. 
I wonder you have not brought home another 
Moor." 

Then bursting into tears, she began to 
wring her hands. 

"What will become of us?" she cried. 
"My husband a do-no-good that no longer 
brings home bread to his family, but goes 
rambling about day and night, with infidel 
Moors! O my children! my children! what 
will become of us ? We shall all have to beg 
in the streets ! " 

Honest Peregil was so moved by her tears 
that he could not help whimpering also. 
Thrusting his hand into his pocket, he hauled 
forth three or four gold pieces, and slipped 
them into her bosom. Then he took out a 
golden chain and dangled it before her, all 
the time smiling from ear to ear. 
no 



&^^Ml of tS}t (ttloot'j^ &^QClC^ 

" What have you been doing, Peregil ? " 
exclaimed the wife. " Surely you have not 
been committing robbery!" 

But she became so sure of it, after the idea 
entered her brain, that she fell into violent 
weeping. What could the poor man do .^^ He 
had no other way to ease her mind than to 
tell her the whole story of his good fortune. 
Her joy was boundless. And, of course, she 
promised to keep the secret. 

"Now, wife," exclaimed the little man 
with honest exultation, " what say you now 
to the Moor's legacy? Henceforth never 
abuse me for helping a fellow-creature in 
distress." 

Peregil slept soundly that night. Not so 
his wife. She emptied the whole contents of 
his pockets upon the mat, and sat counting 
gold pieces of Arabic coin, trying on neck- 
laces and earrings, and fancying the figure 
she should one day make when permitted to 
enjoy her riches. 



Ill 



€cik0 ftrom t^t (glf^amfita 

On the following morning the honest Gal- 
lego sold one of the coins to a jeweller, and 
with the money bought new clothes for his 
little flock, and all kinds of toys, and good 
things to eat, and returning to his dwelling, 
set all his children dancing around him, while 
he capered in their midst, the happiest of 
fathers. 

What was surprising, his wife kept the 
secret. For a whole day and a half she went 
about with a look of mystery and a heart al- 
most bursting, yet she told not a word of it. 
It is true, she gave herself a few airs. She 
talked of buying a new basquiila all trimmed 
with gold lace, and a new mantilla. She 
threw out hints of her husband's intention of 
leaving off his trade of water-carrying, as it 
did not altogether agree with his health. 

The gossips stared at each other and 
thought she had lost her wits, and the mo- 
ment her back was turned, they were quite 
merry over her airs and graces. When she 



112 



jS^^^b of t^t Q!Uoot^0 M^aci^^ 

got home, she put a string of pearls round 
her neck, bracelets on her arms, a diamond 
aigrette on her head, and sailed backwards 
and forwards in her rags, admiring herself 
in a piece of broken mirror. And she could 
not resist showing herself at the window to 
enjoy the effect on the passers by. 

As the fates would have it, Pedrillo Pe- 
drugo, the meddlesome barber, was at this 
moment sitting idly in his shop on the oppo- 
site side of the street, when his ever-watch- 
ful eye caught the sparkle of the diamonds. 
In an instant he was at his loophole watching 
Peregil's wife decorated with the splendour 
of an eastern bride. No sooner had he taken 
an accurate inventory of her ornaments than 
he posted off with all speed to the alcalde, 
and before the day was over the unfortunate 
Peregil was once more dragged into the pre- 
sence of the judge. 

" How is this, villain! " cried the alcalde, 
in a furious voice. " You told me that the 
"3 



^akB from t^t ^(^amfita 

Moor who died in your house left nothing 
behind but an empty coffer, and now I hear 
of your wife flaunting in her rags decked out 
with pearls and diamonds. Wretch that 3^ou 
are ! Prepare to render up the spoils of your 
miserable victim and to swing on the gal- 
lows that is already tired of waiting for 
you." 

The terrified water-carrier fell on his knees 
and confessed the whole secret. The Moor 
was sent for. He entered half-frightened out 
of his wits. When he beheld the water-car- 
rier, he understood the whole matter. 

" Miserable animal," said he, as he passed 
near him, "did I not warn you against bab- 
bling to your wife ? " 

The story of the Moor coincided exactly 
with that of Peregil : but the alcalde affected 
to be slow of belief and threw out menaces 
of imprisonment. 

"Softly, good Senor Alcalde," said the 
Moor, who by this time had recovered his 
114 



Se^enb of t^^ (ttloot?'0 B^^ac^ 

usual shrewdness and self-possession. " Let 
us not mar fortune's favours in a scramble 
for them. Nobody knows anything of this 
matter but ourselves. Let us keep the secret. 
There is wealth enough in the cave to en- 
rich us all. Promise a fair division and all 
shall be produced. Refuse, and the cave shall 
remain for ever closed." 

The alcalde consulted apart with the al- 
guazil. The latter was a fox in his profession. 

" Promise anything," said he, " until you 
get possession of the treasure. You may then 
seize upon the whole, and if they dare to 
murmur, threaten them with the faggot and 
the stake." 

The alcalde relished the advice. Smooth- 
ing his brow, and turning to the Moor, he 
said: 

" This is a strange story and may be true, 
but I must have proof of it. This very night 
you must repeat the incantation in my pre- 
sence. If there be really such treasure, we 
"5 



will share it between us and say nothing fur- 
ther of the matter. If you have deceived me, 
expect no mercy at my hands." 

Towards midnight they started out. Every- 
thing turned out as before. The scroll was 
produced, the yellow waxen taper was 
lighted, and the Moor read the form of 
incantation. The earth trembled, and the 
pavement opened with a thundering sound, 
disclosing the narrow flight of steps. The 
alcalde, the alguazil, and the barber were 
struck aghast, and could not summon cour- 
age to descend. The Moor and the water- 
carrier entered the lower vault, and found 
the two Moors seated as before, silent and 
motionless. They removed two of the great 
jars, filled with golden coin and precious 
stones. The water-carrier bore them up one 
by one upon his shoulders and slung them 
on each side of his donkey. Peregil staggered 
beneath their weight, and they were as much 
as the animal could bear. 
ii6 



&tQtnb of ti}t (VUoot^0 &t$CiC^^ 

" Let us be content for the present," said 
the Moor. " Here is as much treasure as we 
can carry off without being seen, and enough 
to make us all wealthy." 

"Is there more treasure remaining?" de- 
manded the alcalde. 

" The greatest prize of all," said the 
Moor: "a huge coffer bound with bands 
of steel, and filled with pearls and precious 
stones." 

"Let us have up the coffer by all means," 
cried the grasping alcalde. 

"I will descend for no more," said the 
Moor. "Enough is enough for a reasonable 



man." 



" And I," said the water-carrier, " will 
bring up no further burden to break the back 
of my poor donkey." 

Finding commands, threats, and entreaties 
equally vain, the alcalde turned to his two 
adherents. 

" Aid me," said he, " to bring up the cof- 
117 



fer, and its contents shall be divided between 



us." 



So saying, he descended the steps, fol- 
lowed by the alguazil and the barber. 

No sooner did the Moor behold them fairly 
earthed than he blew out the yellow taper. 
The pavement closed with its usual crash, 
and the three remained buried. 

He then hastened up the different flights 
of steps, nor stopped until in the open air. 
The little water-carrier followed him as fast 
as his short legs would permit. 

" What have you done ? " cried Peregil, as 
soon as he could recover breath. " The alcalde 
and the other two are shut up in the vault." 

"It is the will of Allah!" said the Moor 
devoutly. 

"And will you not release them?" de- 
manded the Gallego. 

" Allah forbid ! " replied the Moor, smooth- 
ing his beard. "It is written in the book of 
fate that they shall remain enchanted until 
ii8 



&^QMl of tS}^ QfUoor'^ &tQCiC^i 

some future time when the charm shall be 
broken." 

So saying, he hurled the waxen taper into 
the gloomy thickets of the glen. 

There was now no remedy, so the Moor and 
Peregil, with the richly laden donkey, pro- 
ceeded toward the city. The honest little 
water-carrier was so happy to have his long- 
eared companion restored to him once more, 
that he could not refrain from hugging him. 
It is doubtful which gave him the most joy 
at that moment — the rich treasures, or the 
recovery of his beloved donkey. 

The two partners in good luck divided 
their spoil fairly, except that the Moor made 
out to get into his heap the most of the pearls 
and precious stones, but then he always gave 
the water-carrier in lieu magnificent jewels 
of massive gold, of five times the size, with 
which the latter was heartily content. 

They took great care not to linger within 
reach of accidents, but made off to enjoy 
119 



their wealth undisturbed in other countries. 
The Moor returned to Africa, to his native 
city of Tangiers, and the Gallego, with his 
wife, his children, and his donkey, made the 
best of his way to Portugal. Here he be- 
came a personage of some consequence, for 
his wife made him array his long body and 
short legs in doublet and hose, with a feather 
in his hat and a sword by his side — and 
change his name to Don Pedro Gil. His 
children grew up as merry hearted as him- 
self, while Senora Gil, befringed, belaced, 
and betasselled from her head to her heels, 
with glittering rings on every finger, became 
a model of fashion and finery. 

As to the alcalde and his adjuncts, they 
remained shut up under the great tower of 
the seven floors, and there they remain spell- 
bound at the present day. 



Bejmb of i^t 




Be^enb of (^t 

N old times there reigned a 
Moorish king in Granada, 
whose name was Mohamed, 
to which his subjects added 
the title of " The Left-handed." Some say 
he was so called on account of his being 
really more expert with his left than his right 
hand; others, because he was prone to take 
ever37thing by the wrong end, or, in other 
words, to mar wherever he meddled. Certain 
it is he was continually in trouble. Thrice was 
he driven from his throne, and on one occa- 
sion barely escaped to Africa with his life, 
dressed as a fisherman. Still he was as brave 
as he was blundering; and, though left-hand- 
ed, wielded his cimeter to such purpose that 
he always succeeded in keeping his throne* 
123 



As this Mohamed was one day riding forth 
with a train of his courtiers, he met a band 
of horsemen returning from a foray into the 
land of the Christians. They were conduct- 
ing a long string of mules laden with spoil, 
and many captives, among whom the mon- 
arch was struck with the appearance of a 
beautiful damsel, who sat weeping on a low 
palfrey, and heeded not the consoling words 
of a duenna who rode beside her. 

The monarch noted her beauty, and on in- 
quiring of the captain of the troop, found that 
she was the daughter of an alcayde. Mohamed 
claimed her as his royal share of the booty, 
had her taken to the Alhambra, and soon 
sought to make her his queen. 

At first the Spanish maid would not listen 
to him. He was an infidel, a foe to her 
country, and, what was worse, he was stricken 
in years! 

Finding his addresses of no avail, Mo- 
hamed decided to enlist in his favour the 
124 



services of the duenna, who had been cap- 
tured with the lady. She was an Andalusian 
whose name was Kadiga. No sooner had 
he had a little private conversation with her 
than she promised to undertake his cause 
with her young mistress. 

" Go to, now! " cried she. " What is there 
in all this to weep and wail about? Is it not 
better to be mistress of this beautiful palace, 
with its gardens and fountains, than to be 
shut up within your father's tower ? As to 
this Mohamed being an infidel, what is that 
to the purpose ? You marry him, not his re- 
ligion. At any rate, you are in his power, 
and must either be a queen or a slave." 

The arguments of Kadiga prevailed. The 
Spanish lady dried her tears, and became the 
queen of Mohamed, the Left-handed. She 
even conformed in appearance to the faith of 
her royal husband. 

In process of time, Mohamed was made 
the happy father of three daughters, all born 
125 



at the same time, and, as was usual with 
Moorish kings, he sent for his astrologers. 

" Your daughters," said they, " will most 
need your watchfulness when they arrive at 
a marriageable age. At that time gather them 
under your wings, and trust them to no one 
else." 

Mohamed the Left-handed had little fear 
of not being able to outwit the fates, for he 
considered himself a wise king, as did also 
his courtiers. 

Within a few years, the queen died, leav- 
ing her infant daughters to his love, and to 
the fidelity of Kadiga. Many years had yet 
to pass before they would arrive at the period 
of danger — the marriageable age. 

"It is good, however, to be cautious in 
time," said the shrewd Mohamed, so he de- 
termined to have the princesses reared in a 
distant castle, on the summit of a hill over- 
looking the Mediterranean sea. It was a 
royal retreat, and here they remained, separ- 
136 



ated from the world, but surrounded by every 
pleasure. 

In this abode, the three princesses grew 
up into wondrous beauty; but, though all 
reared alike, they gave early tokens of a dif- 
ference of character. Their names were 
Zayda, Zorayda and Zorahayda. 

Zayda, the eldest, was of an intrepid spirit, 
and took the lead of her sisters in every- 
thing. She was curious and inquisitive, and 
fond of getting at the bottom of things. 

Zorayda had a great feeling for beauty, 
which was the reason, no doubt, of her de- 
lighting to regard her own image in a mirror 
or a fountain, and of her fondness for flowers 
and jewels, and other tasteful ornaments. 

As to Zorahayda, the youngest, she was 
soft and timid, and very sensitive, with a 
vast deal of tenderness, as was evident from 
her number of pet flowers, and pet birds, and 
pet animals, all of which she cherished with 
the fondest care.^Her amusements, too, were 
127 



€cik& from t^t (^C^amfim 

of a gentle nature, and mixed with musing 
and reverie. She would sit for hours in a 
balcony, gazing on the stars of a summer's 
night, or on the sea when lit up by the moon; 
and at such times the song of a fisherman, 
faintly heard from the beach, or the notes of 
a Moorish flute, elevated her feelings into 
ecstasy. The least uproar of the elements, 
however, filled her with dismay, and a clap 
of thunder was enough to throw her into a 
swoon. 

Years rolled on serenely. Kadiga was 
faithful to her trust, and attended the three 
princesses with unremitting care. 

The castle, as has been said, was built 
on the sea-coast. One of the outer walls 
straggled down the hill, until it reached a 
rock overhanging the sea. A small watch- 
tower on this rock had been fitted up as a 
/ 
pavilion, with latticed windows to admit the 

sea-breeze. Here the princesses used to pass 
the sultry hours of mid-day. 
128 



The curious Zayda was one day seated at 
a window of the pavilion, as her sisters, re- 
clining on ottomans, were taking their siesta, 
when her attention was attracted to a gal- 
ley which came coasting along. As it drew 
near, she saw that it was filled with armed 
men. The galley anchored at the foot of 
the tower. A number of Moorish soldiers 
landed on the narrow beach, conducting sev- 
eral Christian prisoners. 

Zayda awakened her sisters, and all 
three peeped cautiously through the lattice. 
Among the prisoners were three Spanish 
cavaliers, richly dressed. They were youth- 
ful and noble, and though loaded with chains 
and surrounded with enemies, carried them- 
selves in a lofty manner. The princesses had 
been cooped up in the castle so long that it 
is not to be wondered at that they should 
gaze with breathless interest at three gallant 
cavaliers in the pride of youth. 

"Did ever nobler being tread the earth 
129 



than the cavalier in crimson ?" cried Zayda. 
"See how proudly he bears himself, as 
though all around him were his slaves ! " 

" But notice the one in green! " exclaimed 
Zorayda. "What grace! what elegance! 
what spirit! " 

The gentle Zorahayda said nothing, but 
she secretly gave preference to the cavalier 
in blue. 

The princesses remained gazing until the 
prisoners were out of sight, and then sat 
down, musing and pensive, on their ottomans. 

Kadiga found them in this situation, and 
they related to her what they had seen. 

" Poor youths ! " exclaimed she. " I '11 war- 
rant their captivity makes many a fair and 
high-born lady's heart ache in their native 
land! Ah! my children, you have little idea 
of the life these cavaliers lead in their own 
country. Such devotion to the ladies ! Such 
courting and serenading ! " 

The curiosity of Zayda was fully aroused. 
130 



She plied the duenna with questions, and 
drew from her tales of her youthful days 
and native land. 

The beautiful Zorayda slyly regarded her- 
self in a mirror, when the theme turned 
upon the charms of the Spanish ladies. 

Zorahayda suppressed a sigh at the men- 
tion of moonlight serenades. 

Every day the curious Zayda renewed her 
inquiries, and every day Kadiga repeated her 
stories. The old woman awoke at length to 
the mischief she might be doing. She had 
been used to thinking of the princesses only 
as children, but she realized now that there 
bloomed before her three damsels of the 
marriageable age. 

" It is time," thought she, " to give notice 
to the king." 

Mohamed the Left-handed was seated one 
morning on a divan in a cool hall of the Al- 
hambra, when a slave arrived with a message 
131 



€cik0 ftom t^t (^t^cm&xa 

from Kadiga, congratulating him on the an 
niversary of his daughters' birthday. The 
slave at the same time presented a delicate 
little basket decorated with flowers, within 
which lay a peach, an apricot, and a necta- 
rine, all three in a stage of ripeness. The king 
being versed in the language of fruits and 
flowers at once understood the meaning of 
this offering. 

" So," said he, " the critical period pointed 
out by the astrologers has arrived. My 
daughters are at a marriageable age. What 
is to be done ? They are shut up from the 
eyes of men under the care of Kadiga — all 
very good — but still they are not under 
my own eye. I must gather them under my 
wing, and trust them to no one else." 

So saying, he ordered that a tower of the 
Alhambra should be prepared for them, and 
departed with his guards for the castle, to 
conduct them home in person. 

It had been three years since Mohamed 
132 



I 



had beheld the princesses, and he could 
scarcely believe his eyes at the wonderful 
change which that small space of time had 
made in them. 

Zayda was tall and finely formed, with 
a lofty manner. She entered with a stately 
step, and made a profound reverence to Mo- 
hamed, treating him more as her sovereign 
than her father. 

Zorayda was of the middle height, with 
an alluring look heightened by the assistance 
of the toilette. She approached her father with 
a smile, kissed his hand, and recited several 
stanzas from an Arabian poet. The king was 
delighted. 

Zorahayda was shy and timid, smaller 
than her sisters, and with a beauty of that 
tender kind which looks for fondness and pro- 
tection. She was little fitted to command 
like Zayda or to dazzle like Zorayda. She 
drew near to her father, with a faltering 
step, and would have taken his hand to 
133 



€(xk0 ftom i§e ^f^amfim 

kiss, but on looking up into his face, and see- 
ing it beam with a smile, she threw her arms 
about his neck. ^ 

Mohamed the Left-handed looked at the 
three princesses with mingled pride and per- 
plexity, for while he exulted in their charms, 
he bethought him of the prediction of the 
astrologers. 

" Three daughters ! three daughters ! " said 
he to himself, " and all of a marriageable age ! 
Here 's tempting fruit that requires a dragon 
watch !" 

He prepared for his return to Granada by 
sending heralds before him, commanding 
every one to keep out of the road by which 
he was to pass, and that all doors and win- 
dows should be closed at their approach. 
This done, they set forth. 

The princesses rode beside the king, 

closely veiled, on beautiful white palfreys. 

The bits and stirrups were of gold and the 

silk bridles were adorned with precious 

134 



stones. The palfreys were covered with little 
silver bells, which made the most musical 
tinkling as they ambled along. Woe to the 
unlucky wight, however, who lingered in the 
way when he heard the tinkling of these 
bells! — the guards were ordered to cut him 
down without mercy. 

The cavalcade was drawing near to Gra- 
nada, when it overtook, on the banks of the 
river Xenil, a small body of Moorish soldiers 
with some prisoners. It was too late for the 
soldiers to get out of the way, so they threw 
themselves on their faces on the earth, order- 
ing their captives to do the like. Among the 
prisoners were the three cavaliers whom the 
princesses had seen from the pavilion. They 
either did not understand, or were too proud 
to obey the order, and remained standing and 
gazing upon the cavalcade as it approached. 

The ire of the monarch was kindled at this 
defiance of his orders. Drawing his cimeter, 
and pressing forward, he was about to deal 
135 



a left-handed blow that might have been 
fatal to at least one of the gazers when the 
princesses crowded round him, and implored 
mercy for the prisoners. 

Even the timid Zorahayda forgot her shy- 
ness. 

Mohamed paused, with uplifted cimeter, 
when the captain of the guard threw himself 
at his feet. 

" Let not your highness," said he, " do a 
deed that may cause great trouble through- 
out the kingdom. These are three brave and 
noble Spanish knights, who have been taken 
in battle, fighting like lions. They are of 
high birth, and may bring great ransoms." 

" Enough ! " said the king. " I will spare 
their lives, but they must be punished. Let 
them be taken to the Vermilion Towers and 
put to hard labour." 

Mohamed was making one of his left- 
handed blunders. In the tumult of this blus- 
tering scene, the veils of the three princesses 
136 




^4£ iBSlkejttiiKes^ arm^eA rourAUm^im^otzim€K^&riitej^iiso«en 



had been thrown back. In those days people 
fell in love much more suddenly than at pre- 
sent, as all ancient stories will tell you. And 
therefore it is not a matter of wonder that 
the hearts of the three cavaliers were com- 
pletely captured, each of them with a sev- 
eral beauty. As to the princesses, they were 
more than ever struck with the noble de- 
meanour of the three cavaliers. 

The cavalcade resumed its march. The 
princesses rode pensively along on their 
tinkling palfreys, now and then glancing 
back in search of the Christian captives who 
were being conducted to their allotted pri- 
son. 

The residence provided for the princesses 
was in a tower, somewhat apart from the 
main palace of the Alhambra, though con- 
nected with it by the wall which encircled 
the whole summit of the hill. On one side 
it looked into the interior of the fortress, and 
* 137 



had, at its foot, a small garden filled with 
flowers. On the other side it overlooked 
a deep embowered ravine, separating the 
grounds of the Alhambra from those of the 
Generalife. 

The interior of the tower was divided 
into small fairy apartments, ornamented in 
light Arabian style, surrounding a lofty hall, 
the roof of which rose almost to the summit 
of the tower. The walls and ceilings of the 
hall were adorned with arabesque and fret- 
work, sparkling with gold and bright pen- 
cilling. In the centre of the marble pavement 
was an alabaster fountain, set round with 
shrubs and flowers, and throwing up a jet of 
water that cooled the whole place. Round 
the hall were hung gold and silver cages, 
containing singing birds. 

The princesses had always been cheerful 

when in the castle, and the king had expected 

to see them enraptured with the Alhambra. 

To his surprise, however, they began to pine 

138 



and grow melancholy, and dissatisfied with 
everything around them. They did not like 
the flowers — the song of the nightingale 
disturbed their night's rest — and they were 
out of all patience with the fountain with its 
drop-drop and splash-splash, from morn- 
ing till night and from night till morning. 

The king at first took this in high displea- 
sure. Then he reflected that his daughters 
were no longer children. 

j" They are women grown," said he, " and 
need suitable objects to interest them." 

He therefore had all the dressmakers and 
jewellers in Granada set to work, and the 
princesses were overwhelmed with robes of 
silk and brocade, and cashmere shawls, and 
necklaces of pearls and diamonds, and rings 
and bracelets and anklets and all manner of 
precious things. 

All, however, was of no avail. They con- 
tinued pale and languid in the midst of their 
finery and looked like three blighted rose- 
139 



buds, drooping from one stalk. The king 
was at his wits' end, and called in the aid of 
the duenna. 

" Kadiga," said he, " I wish you to find 
out the secret malady that is preying upon 
the princesses, and devise some means of re- 
storing them to health and cheerfulness." 

Kadiga promised obedience. In fact she 
knew more of the malady of the princesses 
than they did themselves. 

" My dear children," said she, " what is 
the reason you are so dismal and downcast 
in so beautiful a place, where you have 
everything that heart can wish?" 

The princesses looked vacantl}^ round the 
apartment, and sighed. 

" What more, then, would you have ? Shall 
I get you the wonderful parrot that talks all 
languages ? " 

" Odious ! " exclaimed the princess Zayda. 
"A horrid, screaming bird, that chatters 

without ideas." 

140 



¥ 



" Shall I send for a monkey from the rock 
of Gibraltar, to divert you with his antics ? " 

" A monkey ! faugh ! " cried Zorayda. " The 
detestable mimic of man. I hate the animal." 

" What say you to the famous black singer, 
Casem, from Morocco? They say he has a 
voice as fine as a woman's." 

" I am terrified at the sight of these black 
slaves," said the delicate Zorahayda. " Be- 
sides I have lost all relish for music." 

"Ah, my child, you would not say so," 
replied Kadiga slyly, "had you heard the 
music I heard last evening from the three 
Spanish cavaliers whom we met on our 
journey. But bless me, children! what is 
the matter that you are all in such a flutter } " 

"Nothing, nothing, good mother: pray 
proceed." 

" Well, as I was passing by the tower last 

evening, I saw the three cavaliers resting 

after their day's labour. One was playing on 

a guitar, and the others sang by turns, and 

141 



€akB from t§(^ f^i^am&xa 

they did it in such style that the very guards 
seemed like statues. Allah forgive me! I 
could not help being moved at .hearing the 
songs of my native country. And then to 
see three such noble and handsome youths 
in chains and slavery I " 

Here the kind-hearted old woman could 
not keep back her tears. 

"Perhaps, mother, you could manage to 
procure us a sight of these cavaliers," said 
Zayda. 

"I think," said Zorayda, "a little music 
would be quite reviving." 

The timid Zorahayda said nothing, but 
threw her arms round the neck of Kadiga. 

"Mercy on me!" cried she. "What are 
you talking of, my children? Your father 
would be the death of us all if he heard of 
such a thing. To be sure, these cavaliers 
seem well-bred and high-minded; but what 
of that? They are the enemies of our faith, 
and you must not think of them." 
142 



But her argument was of no avail. The 
princesses hung around her and coaxed, and 
declared that a refusal would break their 
hearts. 

What could she do ? She certainly was a 
most faithful servant to the king. But was 
she to see three beautiful princesses break 
their hearts for the mere tinkling of a guitar ? 
Besides, though she had been so long among 
the Moors, she was a Spaniard born, and had 
the lingerings of Christianity in her heart. 
So she set about to contrive how the wish 
of the princesses might be gratified. 

The Christian captives, confined in the 
Vermilion Towers, were under the charge 
of a big-whiskered, broad-shouldered man, 
called Hussein Baba, who was said to have 
a most itching palm. Kadiga went to him 
privately and slipped a broad piece of gold 
into his hand. 

" Hussein Baba," said she, " my mistresses 
the three princesses who are shut up in the 
H3 



tower are in sad want of amusement. They 
have heard of the musical talents of the 
three Spanish cavaliers, and wish to hear 
a specimen of their skill. I am sure you are 
too kind-hearted to refuse so innocent a 
request." 

"What! and to have my head set grin- 
ning over the gate of my own tower! for 
that would be the reward if the king should 
discover it" 

" No danger of anything of the kind : the 
affair may be managed so that the king will 
know nothing about it. You know the deep 
ravine outside the walls, which passes be- 
low the tower. Put the three Christians to 
work there, and at the intervals of their la- 
bour, let them play and sing, as if for their 
own pleasure. In this way the princesses 
will be able to hear them from the windows 
of the tower." 

As the good old woman finished speaking, 

she kindly pressed the rough hand of Hus- 
144 



sein Baba, leaving in it another piece of 
gold. 

The very next day the three cavaliers 
were put to work in the ravine. During the 
noontide heat, when their fellow labourers 
were sleeping in the shade, and the guard 
nodding at his post, they seated themselves 
at the foot of the tower and sang a Spanish 
roundelay to the music of the guitar. 

The glen was deep, the tower was high, 
but their voices rose distinctly in the still- 
ness of the summer noon. 

The princesses listened from their bal- 
cony. They had been taught the Spanish 
language by their duenna, and were moved 
by the tenderness of the song. Kadiga, on 
the contrary, was terribly shocked. 

"Allah preserve us!" cried she. "They 
are singing a song addressed to yourselves. 
I will run to the slave-master and have them 
punished." 

But the three princesses were filled with 
H5 



€ixkB from t^t (^t^am&xa 

horror at the idea. Besides the music seemed 
to have a beneficial effect upon them. Their 
eyes sparkled, and a bloom came to their 
cheeks, so with all her indignation, Kadiga 
was soon appeased and made no further ob- 
jection to the song. 

When it was finished, Zorayda took up a 
lute, and with a sweet, though faint and 
trembling voice, warbled a little Arabian 
air, the burden of which was : 

" The rose is concealed among her leaves, 
but she listens with delight to the song of 
the nightingale." 

From this time forward the cavaliers 
worked almost daily in the ravine. Hus- 
sein Baba became more and more indulgent 
and daily more prone to sleep at his post. 
By degrees the princesses showed them- 
selves at the balcony, when they could do 
so without being seen by the guards, and 
conversed with the cavaliers. The change 
effected in their looks and spirits surprised 
146 



and gratified the left-handed king, but no 
one was more elated than Kadiga, who 
considered it all owing to her able manage- 
ment. 

At length there was an interruption. For 
several days the cavaliers ceased to make 
their appearance in the glen. The princesses 
looked out from the tower in vain. In vain 
they stretched their swan-like necks from 
the balcony: in vain they sang like captive 
nightingales in their cage. Nothing was to 
be seen of their Christian lovers — not a note 
responded from the groves. Kadiga sallied 
forth in quest of intelligence, and soon re- 
turned with a face full of trouble. 

"Ah, my children!" cried she. "I saw 
what all this would come to, but you would 
have your way. You may now hang your 
lutes on the willows. The Spanish cavaliers 
are ransomed by their families. They are 
down in Granada preparing to return to 
their native country." 
147 



The three beautiful princesses were in de- 
spair at the tidings. 

Zayda was indignant at the slight put upon 
them, in thus being deserted without a part- 
ing word. 

Zorayda wrung her hands and cried, and 
looked in the glass and wiped away her tears, 
and cried afresh. 

The gentle Zorahayda leaned over the bal- 
cony and wept in silence, and her tears fell 
drop by drop among the flowers where the 
faithless cavaliers had so often been seated. 

Kadiga did all in her power to soothe their 
sorrow. 

"Take comfort, my children," said she, 
"this is nothing when you are used to it. 
This is the way of the world. Ah I when you 
are as old as I am, you will know how to 
value these men. I '11 warrant these cavaliers 
have their loves among the Spanish beauties 
of Cordova and Seville, and will soon be sere- 
nading under their balconies, and thinking no 
148 



more of the Moorish beauties in the Alham- 
bra. Take comfort, therefore, my children, 
and drive them from your thoughts." 

But the words of Kadiga only redoubled 
their distress, and for two days they could not 
be consoled. On the morning of the third, the 
good old woman entered their apartment all 
ruffling with indignation. 

"Who would have believed such insolence 
in mortal man!" exclaimed she, as soon as 
she could find words to speak. " But I 'm 
rightly served for helping to deceive your 
worthy father. Never talk more to me of 
your Spanish cavaliers." 

" Why, what has happened, good Kadiga ? " 
exclaimed the princesses. 

"What has happened? — treason has been 
proposed ; and to me, the trustiest of duennas ! 
Yes, my children, the Spanish cavaliers dared 
to ask me to persuade you to fly with them 
to Cordova, and become their wives ! " 

Here Kadiga covered her face with her 
149 



hands, and gave way to a violent burst of 
grief. The three beautiful princesses turned 
pale and red and trembled, and looked at 
each other, but said nothing. Meantime the 
old woman sat rocking backward and for- 
ward in violent agitation. 

At length the eldest princess, who had 
the most spirit and always took the lead, ap- 
proached her, and laid her hand upon her 
shoulder. 

"Well, mother," said she, "supposing we 
were willing to fly with these Christian cava- 
liers — is such a thing possible?" 

Kadiga paused suddenly. 

"Possible," echoed she, "to be sure it is 
possible. Have not the cavaliers already 
bribed Hussein Baba to arrange the whole 
plan ? But then, to think of deceiving your 
father!" 

And here she gave way to a fresh burst of 
grief. 

" But our father has never placed anycon- 
150 



fidence in us," said the eldest princess, "but 
has trusted to bolts and bars, and treated us 
as captives." 

"Why, that is true enough," replied the 
old woman, again pausing in her grief: "he 
has indeed treated you unreasonably, keep- 
ing you shut up here in a moping old tower, 
like roses left to wither in a flower-jar. But 
then, to fly from your native land ! " 

" And is not the land we fly to the native 
land of our mother, where we shall live in 
freedom? And shall we not each have a 
youthful husband in exchange for a severe 
old father?" 

"Why, that again is all very true, but 
what then," again giving way to grief, 
"would you leave me behind to bear the 
brunt of his displeasure ? " 

" By no means, my good Kadiga: cannot 
you fly with us ? " 

"Very true, my child, and to tell the 
truth, when I talked the matter over with 
151 



Hussein Baba, he promised to take care of 
me, if I would fly with you. But then, be- 
think you, children, are you willing to re- 
nounce the faith of your father ? " 

" The Christian faith was the original 
faith of our mother," said Zayda. " I am 
ready to embrace it, and so, I am sure, are 
my sisters." 

" Right again," exclaimed the old woman, 
brightening up. "It was the original faith of 
your mother, and bitterly did she lament, on 
her death-bed, that she had renounced it. 
I promised her then to take care of your 
souls, and I rejoice to see that they are now 
in a fair way to be saved. Yes, my children, 
I too was born a Christian, and have re- 
mained a Christian in my heart, and am re- 
solved to return to the faith. I have talked 
with Hussein Baba, who is a Spaniard, by 
birth, and comes from a place not far from 
my native town. He is equally anxious to 
see his own country, and the cavaliers have 
152 



promised that if we are disposed to become 
man and wife, on returning to our native 
land, they will provide for us handsomely." 

In a word, it appeared that Kadiga had 
consulted with the cavaliers and Hussein 
Baba, and had made the whole plan of 
escape. 

Zayda and Zorayda agreed to the plan at 
once, but Zorahayda hesitated, for she was 
gentle and timid of soul. At last, however, 
with silent tears and stifled sighs, she pre- 
pared herself for flight. 

In old times, the rugged hill on which the 
Alhambra is built had many underground 
passages cut through the rock, leading from 
the fortress to various parts of the city, and 
to distant sally-ports on the banks of the 
Darro and Xenil. They had been built at 
different times by the Moorish kings, as a 
means of escape from sudden insurrections, 
and by one of these passages Hussein Baba 
had undertaken to conduct the princesses 
153 



beyond the walls of the city, where the cava- 
liers were to be ready with fleet steeds, to 
bear the whole party over the borders. 

The appointed night arrived. The tower 
of the princesses had been locked up as 
usual, and the Alhambra was buried in deep 
sleep. Towards midnight, Kadiga listened 
from the balcony of a window that looked 
into the garden. Hussein Baba was already 
below, and gave the signal. The duenna 
fastened the end of a ladder of ropes to the 
balcony, lowered it into the garden and 
descended. The two eldest princesses fol- 
lowed with beating hearts, but when it 
came to Zorahayda, she hesitated and trem- 
bled. Several times she placed her foot upon 
the ladder, and as often drew it back, while 
her poor little heart fluttered more and more 
the longer she delayed. She cast a wistful 
look back into the silken chamber. She had 
lived in it, to be sure, like a bird in a cage, 
154 



but within it she was secure. Who could 
tell what dangers might beset her, should 
she flutter forth into the wide world ! Now 
she bethought her of her Christian lover, 
and her little foot was instantly upon the 
ladder: and anon she thought of her father 
and shrank back. 

In vain her sisters implored, the duenna 
scolded, and Hussein Baba blasphemed be- 
neath the balcony. The gentle Moorish maid 
stood doubting and wavering. Every mo- 
ment increased the danger of discovery. A 
distant tramp was heard. 

" The patrols are walking their rounds ! " 
cried Hussein Baba. " If we linger, we perish. 
Princess, descend instantly or we leave you." 

Zorahayda was for a moment in fearful 
agitation; then loosening the ladder of ropes, 
she flung it from the balcony. 

" It is decided ! " cried she : " flight is now 
out of my power! Allah guide and bless you, 
my dear sisters ! " 

^55 



The two eldest princesses were shocked 
at the thoughts of leaving her behind, and 
would fain have lingered, but the patrol was 
advancing, Hussein Baba was furious, and 
they were hurried away to the passage. They 
groped their way through the heart of the 
mountain, and succeeded in reaching an iron 
gate that opened outside of the walls. The 
Spanish cavaliers were waiting to receive 
them, disguised as Moorish soldiers. 

The lover of Zorahayda was frantic when 
he learned that she had refused to leave the 
tower, but there was no time to waste in lam- 
entations. The two princesses were placed 
behind their lovers, Kadiga mounted behind 
Hussein Baba, and they all set off at a round 
pace in the direction of the Pass of Lope, 
which leads through the mountains towards 
Cordova. 

They had not gone very far when they 
heard the noise of drums and trumpets from 
the battlements of the Alhambra. 
156 



" Our flight is discovered! " said Hussein 
Baba. 

"We have fleet steeds, the night is dark, 
and we may distance all pursuit," replied the 
cavaliers. 

They put spurs to their horses, and scoured 
across the Vega. When they reached the 
foot of the mountain of Elvira, Hussein Baba 
paused and listened. 

" As yet," said he, "there is no one on our 
traces. We shall make good our escape to 
the mountains." 

,While he spoke a light blaze sprung up 
on the top of the watch-tower of the Al- 
hambra. 

"Confusion!" cried he, "that bale fire 
will put all the guards of the passes on the 
alert. Away! away! Spur like mad — there 
is no time to be lost." 

Away they dashed — the clattering of their 
horses' hoofs echoed from rock to rock, as 
they swept along the road. As they galloped 
157 



€(Xk0 from t^^ (^f^amfitra 

on, the bale fire of the Alhambra was an- 
swered in every direction. Light after light 
blazed on the watch-towers of the mountains. 

" Forward ! forward ! " cried Hussein Baba, 
" to the bridge, before the alarm has reached 
there!" 

They doubled the mountains and arrived 
in sight of the famous Bridge of Pinos that 
crosses a rushing stream. To their confusion, 
the tower of the bridge blazed with lights 
and glittered with armed men. 

Hussein Baba pulled up his steed, rose in 
his stirrups and looked about him for a mo- 
ment; then beckoning to the cavaliers, he 
struck off from the road, skirted the river 
for some distance, and dashed into its waters. 
The cavaliers called upon the princesses to 
cling to them, and did the same. They were 
borne for some distance down the rapid cur- 
rent, the surges roared round them, but the 
princesses clung to their Christian knights, 
and never uttered a complaint. The cavaliers 
158 



attained the opposite bank in safety, and Hus- 
sein Baba conducted them, by rude and un- 
frequented paths, through the heart of the 
mountains, so as to avoid all the regular passes. 
In a word they succeeded in reaching the 
ancient city of Cordova. 

Their restoration to their country and 
friends was celebrated with great rejoicings, 
for they were of the noblest families. The 
beautiful princesses were forthwith received 
into the bosom of the Church, and after being 
in all due form made Christians, were rend- 
ered happy wives. 

In our hurry to make good the escape of 
the princesses across the river, and up the 
mountains, we forgot to mention the fate of 
Kadiga. She had clung, like a cat, to Hussein 
Baba in the scamper across the Vega, scream- 
ing at every turn, and w^hen he prepared to 
plunge his steed into the river, her terror 
knew no bounds. 

>59 



" Grasp me not so tightly," cried Hussein 
Baba. "Hold on my belt and fear nothing." 

She held firmly with both hands by the 
leather belt, but when he halted with the 
cavaliers to take breath on the mountain 
summit, the duenna was no longer to be seen. 

" What has become of Kadiga ? " cried the 
princesses in alarm. 

"Allah alone knows!" replied Hussein 
Baba. "My belt came loose in the midst of 
the river, and Kadiga was swept with it down 
the stream. The will of Allah be done! But 
it was an embroidered belt and of great 
price." 

There was no time to waste in idle regrets ; 
yet bitterly did the princesses bewail the loss 
of their faithful duenna. That excellent old 
woman, however, did not lose more than 
half of her nine lives in the water. A fish- 
erman, who was drawing his nets some 
distance down the stream, brought her to 
land, and he was not a little astonished at his 

1 60 



miraculous draught. What further became of 
her, the story does not tell; but it is certain 
that she never ventured within reach of Mo- 
hamed the Left-handed. 

Almost as little is known of the conduct 
of that wise monarch when he discovered 
the escape of his daughters, and the deceit 
practised upon him by the most faithful of 
servants. It was the only instance in which 
he had called in the aid of counsel, and he 
was never afterwards known to be guilty of 
a similar weakness. 

He took good care, however, to guard his 
remaining daughter who had no disposition 
to elope. It is thought, indeed, that she 
secretly repented having remained behind. 
Now and then she was seen leaning on the 
battlements of the tower, and looking in the 
direction of Cordova, and sometimes the 
notes of her lute were heard as she sang 
plaintive songs in which she was said to la- 
ment the loss of her sisters and her lover, 
i6i 



and to bewail her solitary life. She died 
young, and, according to popular rumour, 
was buried in a vault beneath the tower, and 
her untimely fate has given rise to more than 
one traditionary fable. 



Be^m^ of 

t^t (Bo0e of t^i (gt^miu 




Be^m^ of 
tpe (Ko^e of (^t @f^ain6ta 

*OR some time after the sur- 
render of Granada by the 
Moors, that deh'ghtful city was 
a frequent and favourite resi- 
dence of the Spanish kings, until they were 
frightened away by shocks of earthquakes, 
which toppled down houses, and made the 
old Moslem towers rock. 

Many, many years then rolled away, dur- 
ing which Granada was rarely honoured by a 
royal guest. The palaces remained silent and 
shut up, and the Alhambra, like a slighted 
beauty, sat mournfully among her neglected 
gardens. The tower, which was once the 
residence of the three beautiful princesses, 
partook of the general desolation. The spi- 
der spun her web across the gilded vault, 

165 



'tak0 from t^t ^{^amfita 

and bats and owls nestled in those chambers 
that had been graced by the presence of 
Zayda, Zorayda, and Zorahayda. The ne- 
glect of this tower may have been partly 
owing to some superstitious notions of the 
neighbours. It was said that the spirit of Zo- 
rahayda was often seen by moonlight seated 
beside the fountain in the hall, or heard 
moaning about the battlements, and that the 
notes of her silver lute could be heard at 
midnight by wayfarers passing along the 
glen. 

At length the city was once more to wel- 
come the king and queen, and the Alhambra 
was repaired and fitted up with all possible 
expedition for the visit. The arrival of the 
court changed the whole aspect of the lately 
deserted palace. The clamour of drum and 
trumpet, the tramp of steed about the ave- 
nues, the glitter of arms and display of ban- 
ners, recalled the ancient and warlike glories 
i66 



€^^ (Ho0e of t^^ @f§am6m 

of the fortress. Within the palace, there was 
the rustling of robes and the cautious tread 
and murmuring voice of courtiers about the 
ante-chambers, a loitering of pages and 
maids of honour about the gardens, and 
the sound of music stealing from open case- 
ments. 

Among those who attended in the train of 
the monarchs was a favourite page of the 
queen, named Ruyz de Alarcon. He was just 
turned of eighteen, light and lithe of form, 
and very graceful. To the queen he was all 
deference and respect, yet he was at heart a 
roguish stripling, petted and spoiled by the 
ladies about the court. 

This loitering page was one morning ram- 
bling about the groves of the Generalife, and 
had taken with him for his amusement a fa- 
vourite ger-falcon of the queen. In the course 
of his rambles, seeing a bird rising from a 
thicket, he unhooded the hawk and let him 
fly. The falcon towered high in the air, made 
167 



a swoop at his quarry, but missing it, soared 
away, regardless of the calls of the page. 
The page followed the bird with his eye, 
until he saw it alight upon the battlements 
of a remote and lonely tower, in the outer 
wall of the Alhambra, built on the edge of 
a ravine that separated the fortress from the 
grounds of the Generalife. It was, in fact, the 
^f Tower of the Princesses." 

The page descended into the ravine and 
approached the tower, but it had no entrance 
from the glen, and its lofty height made any 
attempt to scale it useless. Seeking one of 
the gates of the fortress, therefore, he made 
a wide circuit to that side of the tower facing 
within the walls. 

A small garden overhung with myrtle lay 
before the tower. Opening a wicket, the page 
passed between beds of flowers and thickets 
of roses to the door. It was closed and 
bolted. A crevice in the door gave him a 
peep inside. There was a small Moorish 
1 68 



t^t (Ro^e of t^t (^C^amfim 

hall with fretted walls, light marble columns, 
and an alabaster fountain surrounded with 
flowers.. In the centre hung a gilt cage con- 
taining a singing-bird. Beneath it, on a chair, 
lay a tortoise-shell cat among reels of silk, 
and a guitar leaned against the fountain. 

Ruyz de Alarcon was struck with these 
traces of female taste in a lonely, and, as he 
had supposed, deserted tower. They re- 
minded him of the tales of the enchanted hall 
of the Alhambra; and the tortoise-shell cat 
might be some spell-bound princess. 

He knocked gently at the door. A beau- 
tiful face peeped out from a little window 
above, but was instantly withdrawn. He 
waited, expecting that the door would be 
opened, but he waited in vain. No footstep 
was to be heard within — all was silent. 
Had his senses deceived him, or was this 
beautiful apparition the fairy of the tower? 
He knocked again, and more loudly. After 
a little while the beaming face once more 
169 



€citt0 from t^t (^t^am&xa 

peeped forth. It was that of a blooming dam- 
sel of fifteen. 

The page immediately doffed his plumed 
bonnet, and entreated in the most courteous 
way to be permitted to ascend the tower in 
pursuit of his falcon. 

" I dare not open the door, Senor," replied 
the little damsel : " my aunt has forbidden 



it." 



" I do beseech you, fair maid — it is the 
favourite falcon of the queen. I dare not re- 
turn to the palace without it." 

"Are you then one of the cavaliers of the 
court ? " 

"I am, fair maid. But I shall lose the 
queen's favour and my place if I lose this 
hawk." 

" Santa Maria! It is against you cavaliers 
of the court my aunt has charged me spe- 
cially to bar the door." 

"Against wicked cavaliers doubtless, but 
I am none of these, only a simple harmless 
170 



t^t (Ro0e of t^t (^i^am&xa 

page, who will be ruined and undone if you 
deny me this small request." 

The heart of the little damsel was touched 
by the distress of the page. It was a thou- 
sand pities he should be ruined for the want 
of so trifling a boon. Surely he could not be 
one of those dangerous beings whom her 
aunt had described. He was gentle and mod- 
est, and stood so entreatingly with cap in 
hand, and looked so charming. 

The page redoubled his entreaties in such 
moving terms that it was not in the nature 
of mortal maiden to deny him, and the little 
warden of the tower descended and opened 
the door. The page was charmed with her 
appearance. Her Andalusian bodice and 
trim basquifia set off her round form. Her 
glossy hair was parted on her forehead and 
decorated with a fresh plucked rose, accord- 
ing to the custom of Spain. It is true her 
complexion was tinged with the southern 
sun, but it served to give richness to the 
171 



bloom of her cheek, and heighten the lustre 
of her eyes. 

Ruyz de Alarcon beheld all this with a 
single glance, for it became him not to tarry. 
He thanked her, and then bounded lightly up 
the spiral staircase in quest of his falcon. 

He soon returned with the truant bird 
upon his fist. The damsel, in the meantime, 
had seated herself by the fountain in the hall 
and was winding silk. In her agitation she 
let the reel fall upon the pavement. The 
page sprang and picked it up, then dropping 
on one knee, presented it to her. In doing 
so, he seized her hand, and imprinted on it a 
kiss more fervent than he had ever imprinted 
on the fair hand of his sovereign. 

"Ave Maria, Senor," exclaimed the damsel. 

The page made a thousand apologies, as- 
suring her that it was the way at court of ex- 
pressing the most profound homage. 

Just then a shrill voice was heard at a dis- 
tance. 

172 



tS}t (Ro0e of f^e (^t^am&xa 

" My aunt is returning from mass ! " cried the 
damsel in affright. " I pray you, Senor, depart." 

"Not until you grant me that rose from 
your hair as a remembrance." 

She hastily untwisted the flower. 

" Take it," cried she, " but pray begone." 

The page took the rose, again kissing the 
fair hand that gave it. Then placing the 
flower in his bonnet, and taking the falcon 
upon his fist, he bounded off through the 
garden, bearing away with him the heart of 
the gentle Jacinta. 

When the aunt arrived at the tower, she 
remarked the agitation of her niece, and an 
air of confusion in the hall. 

" A ger-falcon pursued his prey into the 
hall," said Jacinta. 

" Mercy on us ! " said the aunt. "To think 
of a falcon flying into the tower. Did ever 
one hear of so saucy a hawk?" 

The aunt's name was Fredegonda and she 
was one of the most wary of ancient spin- 
173 



sters. Jacinta was the orphan of an officer 
who had fallen in the wars. She had been 
educated in a convent, and had only recently 
been placed under the care of her aunt. Her 
fresh and dawning beauty had caught the pub- 
lic eye, even in her seclusion, and with that 
poetical turn common to the people of An- 
dalusia, the peasantry of the neighbourhood 
had given her the name of " The Rose of the 
Alhambra." 

The wary aunt kept a faithful watch over 
her little niece till at length the king cut short 
his sojourn at Granada, and departed with 
his court. Fredegonda watched the royal 
pageant as it issued from the gate and de- 
scended the great avenue leading to the city. 
When the last banner disappeared from her 
sight, she returned exulting to her tower, for 
all her cares were over. 

To her surprise, a light Arabian steed 
pawed the ground at the wicket gate of her 
garden. To her horror she saw through the 
174 



t^t (Ro0e of t^t (^l^cm&xa 

thickets of roses a youth in gayly embroidered 
dress at the feet of her niece. At the sound 
of her footsteps he gave a tender adieu, 
bounded lightly over the barrier of reeds and 
myrtles, sprang upon his horse, and was out 
of sight in an instant. 

The tender Jacinta, in the agony of her 
grief, lost all thought of her aunt's displea- 
sure. Throwing herself into her arms, she 
broke into sobs and tears. 

"He's gone! — he's gone!" she cried, 
"and I shall never see him more!" 

"Gone! — who is gone? — what youth is 
that I saw at your feet?" 

"A queen's page, aunt, who came to bid 
me farewell." 

"A queen's page, child!" echoed Frede- 
gonda, " and when did you become acquainted 
with the queen's page ? " 

"The morning that the ger-falcon came 
into the tower. It was the queen's ger-falcon, 
and he came in pursuit of it." 

175 



"Ah silly, silly girl I" said the indignant 
aunt. "There are no ger-falcons half so dan- 
gerous as these young prankling pages, and 
it is precisely such simple birds as you that 
they pounce upon." 

Days, weeks, months elapsed, and nothing 
more was heard of the page. The pome- 
granate ripened, the vine yielded up its fruit, 
the autumn rains came down in torrents from 
the mountains, and the Sierra Nevada be- 
came covered with a snowy mantle. Still he 
did not come. The winter passed away. 
Again the genial spring burst forth with song 
and blossom. Still nothing was heard of the 
forgetful page. 

In the meantime poor little Jacinta grew 
pale and thoughtful. Her former occupations 
and amusements were abandoned, her silk 
lay entangled, her flowers were neglected, 
and her eyes were dimmed with weeping. 

"Alas, silly child! " the staid Fredegonda 
176 



tS}t (Ro0^ of t^t (ac^amfira 

would say. "What could you expect from 
one of a haughty family — you an orphan, 
the descendant of a fallen line? Be assured, 
if the youth were true, his father, who is one 
of the proudest nobles about the court, would 
prohibit his union with one so humble and 
portionless as you. Therefore, drive these 
idle notions from your mind." 

But the words of Fredegonda only served 
to increase Jacinta's melancholy. 

At a late hour one midsummer night, after 
her aunt had gone to rest, Jacinta remained 
alone in the hall of the tower, seated beside 
the alabaster fountain. The poor little dam- 
sel's heart was overladen with sad recollec- 
tions, her tears began to flow, and slowly fell 
drop by drop into the fountain. By degrees 
the water became agitated, and — bubble — 
bubble — bubble — boiled up and was tossed 
about, until a female figure, richly clad in 
Moorish dress, slowly rose to view. 
177 



Jacinta was so frightened that she fled from 
the hall, and was afraid to return. The next 
morning she related to her aunt what she had 
seen, but the good lady thought she had fallen 
asleep and dreamt beside the fountain. 

"You have been thinking of the story of 
the three Moorish princesses that once lived 
in this tower," said she, " and it has entered 
into your dreams." 

"What story, aunt? I know nothing of it." 

"You have certainly heard of the three 
princesses, Zayda, Zorayda and Zorahayda, 
who were shut up in this tower by the king, 
their father, and agreed to fly with three 
Christian cavaliers. The first two accom- 
plished their escape, but the third failed in 
her resolution, and, it is said, died in this 



tower." 



" I now remember to have heard it," said 
Jacinta, "and to have wept over the fate of 
the gentle Zorahayda." 

"You may well weep," continued the aunt, 
178 



t^t (Ro0e of t^t (^f^amfitd 

'^for the lover of Zorahayda was your an- 
cestor. He long bemoaned his fate, but time 
cured him of his grief, and he married a 
Spanish lady from whom you are descended." 

"If indeed it be the spirit of the gentle 
Zorahayda, which I have heard lingers about 
this tower, of what should I be afraid?" 
thought Jacinta. "I '11 watch by the fountain 
to-night — perhaps the visit will be repeated." 

Towards midnight, when everything was 
quiet, she again took her seat in the hall. 
As the bell in the distant watch-tower struck 
the midnight hour, the fountain was again 
agitated: and bubble — bubble — bubble — 
it tossed about the waters until the Moorish 
woman again rose to view. She was young 
and beautiful. Her dress was rich with jew- 
els, and in her hand she held a silver lute. 
Jacinta trembled and was faint, but was re- 
assured by the soft and plaintive voice of the 
apparition. 

" Daughter of mortality," said she, " why 
179 



do your tears trouble my fountain, and your 
sighs disturb the quiet watches of the night ? " 

"I weep because of the faithlessness of 
man, and I bemoan my solitary and forsaken 
state." 

"Take comfort. Your sorrows may yet 
have an end. Behold in me a Moorish prin- 
cess, who was, like you, unhappy. A Chris- 
tian knight, your ancestor, would have borne 
me to his native land, but I lacked courage 
equal to my faith, and lingered till too late. 
For this the evil genii have power over me, 
and I remain enchanted in this tower until 
some pure Christian will deign to break the 
magic spell. Will you undertake the task.? " 

" I will," replied Jacinta, trembling. 

"Come hither, then, and fear not. Dip 
your hand in the fountain, sprinkle the water 
over me, and baptize me after the manner of 
your faith. So shall the enchantment be dis- 
pelled, and my troubled spirit have repose." 

Jacinta advanced with faltering steps, 
i8o 



t^t (Uo0e of t^t (?lC§am6ta 

dipped her hand into the fountain, collected 
water in the palm, and sprinkled it over the 
pale face of the phantom. 

The latter smiled benignly. She dropped 
her silver lute at the feet of Jacinta, crossed 
her white arms, and melted from sight, so 
that it seemed merely as if a shower of dew- 
drops had fallen into the fountain. 

Jacinta retired from the hall filled with 
awe and wonder. She scarcely closed her 
eyes that night; but when she awoke at day- 
break out of a troubled slumber, the whole 
appeared to her like a dream. On descend- 
ing into the hall, however, she beheld the 
silver lute lying beside the fountain, glitter- 
ing in the morning sunshine. 

She hastened to her aunt, to relate all that 
had befallen her, and called her to behold 
the lute as a proof of the reality of her story. 
If the good lady had any doubts, they were 
removed when Jacinta touched the instru- 
ment, for she played such a beautiful melody 



that Fredegonda's frigid heart was entirely 
thawed, and nothing but supernatural music 
could have produced such an effect. 

The power of the lute became every day 
more and more apparent. The wayfarer, 
passing by the tower, was detained, as it 
were, spell-bound. The very birds gathered 
in the trees, and, hushing their own strains, 
listened in charmed silence. Rumour soon 
spread the news abroad. The inhabitants of 
Granada thronged to the Alhambra to catch 
a few notes of the wonderful music that 
floated about Jacinta's tower. 

The lovely little minstrel was at length 
drawn from her retreat. The rich and power- 
ful of the land contended who should enter- 
tain and do honour to her. Wherever she 
went, her vigilant aunt kept a dragon watch 
at her elbow, awing the throngs of ad- 
mirers who listened to her strains. The re- 
port of her wonderful powers spread from 
city to city. Malaga, Seville, Cordova, all 
182 



te^t (Ro0^ of t^t (^t^am&xa 

became mad on the theme. Nothing was 
talked of throughout Andalusia but the beau- 
tiful minstrel of the Alhambra. 

While all Andalusia was thus music mad, 
a different mood prevailed at the court of 
Spain. The king, as was well known, was 
subject to all kinds of fancies. Sometimes 
he would keep to his bed for weeks together, 
groaning under imaginary complaints. At 
other times he would insist upon abdicating 
his throne, to the great annoyance of his 
royal spouse, who had a strong relish for 
the splendours of a court and the glories of 
a crown, and guided the sceptre of her lord 
with an expert and steady hand. 

At the moment we treat of, a freak had 
come over the mind of the king that sur- 
passed all former moods. After a long spell 
of imaginary illness, the monarch, fairly in 
idea, gave up the ghost, and considered him- 
self absolutely dead. 

183 



This would have been harmless enough, 
and even convenient both to the queen and 
courtiers, had he been content to remain in 
the quietude befitting a dead man. But to 
their annoyance, he insisted upon having the 
funeral ceremonies performed over him, and 
began to grow impatient because they left 
him unburied. 

In the midst of this fearful dilemma, a 
rumour reached the court of the female min- 
strel who was turning the brains of all An- 
dalusia. Nothing was so efficacious in dis- 
pelling the royal megrims as the power of 
music, so the queen dispatched messengers 
in all haste to summon Jacinta to the court. 

Within a few days, as the queen with her 
maids of honour was walking in the stately 
gardens of the palace, the far-famed minstrel 
was conducted into her presence. The queen 
gazed with surprise at the youthful and un- 
pretending appearance of the little being that 
184 



te}t (^oBt of tS}t (^f^amfim 

had set the world madding. She was in her 
picturesque Andalusian dress, her silver lute 
in hand, and stood with modest and down- 
cast eyes, but with a simplicity and fresh- 
ness of beauty that still bespoke her " the 
Rose of the Alhambra." 

As usual, she was accompanied by the 
ever-vigilant Fredegonda, who gave the 
whole history of her parentage and descent 
to the inquiring queen. The queen was 
pleased when she learnt that her father had 
bravely fallen in the service of the crown. 

" If your powers equal your renown," said 
she, " and you can cast forth this evil spirit 
that possesses the king, your fortune shall 
henceforth be my care, and honours and 
wealth attend you." 

The queen was impatient to make trial of 
her skill, and led the way at once to the 
apartment of the moody monarch. 

Jacinta followed with downcast eyes 
through the files of guards and crowds of 
185 



€(1^0 from t^'t (^t^cmhxci 

courtiers. They came at length to a great 
chamber hung with black. The windows were 
closed to exclude the light of day. A number 
of yellow wax tapers in silver sconces diffused 
a light which dimly revealed the figures of 
the courtiers as they glided about with noise- 
less step and woebegone visage. In the 
midst of a funeral bier, his hands folded on 
his breast and the tip of his nose just visible, 
lay extended this would-be-buried monarch. 

The queen entered the chamber in silence, 
and pointing to a footstool in an obsure cor- 
ner, beckoned to Jacinta to sit down and 
commence. 

At first she touched her lute with a fal- 
tering hand, but gathering confidence as she 
proceeded, drew forth such wonderful har- 
mony that all present could scarce believe it 
mortal. As to the king, who had already 
considered himself in the world of spirits, he 
set it down for some angelic melody or the 

music of the spheres. 

i86 



€^t (Ro0e of t^t (^f^amfim 

By degrees the theme was varied, and the 
voice of Jacinta accompanied the lute. She 
sang one of the legendary ballads treating of 
the ancient glories of the Alhambra and the 
achievements of the Moors. The funeral 
chamber resounded with the strains. It en- 
tered into the gloomy heart of the monarch. 
He raised his head and gazed around. He 
sat up on his couch. His eyes began to kin- 
dle. At length, leaping upon the floor he 
called for sword and buckler. 

The triumph of music, or rather of the en- 
chanted lute, was complete. The demon of 
melancholy was cast forth, and, as it were, 
a dead man brought to life. The windows of 
the apartment were thrown open and the 
glorious Spanish sunshine burst into the 
chamber. All eyes sought the lovely en- 
chantress, but the lute had fallen from her 
hand, she had sunk upon the earth, and the 
next moment was clasped to the heart of 
Ruyz de Alarcon. 

187 



The wedding of the happy couple was 
celebrated soon afterwards with great splen- 
dour, and " The Rose of the Alhambra " be- 
came the ornament and delight of the court. 

"But hold — not so fast—" I hear the 
reader exclaim. " This is jumping to the end 
of a story at a furious rate ! First let us know 
how Ruyz de Alarcon managed to account 
to Jacinta for his long neglect." 

Nothing more easy: the venerable, time- 
honoured excuse — the opposition to his 
wishes by a proud pragmatical old father. 

"But how was the proud pragmatical old 
father reconciled to the match ? " 

O! as to that, his scruples were easily 
overcome by a word or two from the queen, 
especially as dignities and rewards were 
showered upon the blooming favourite of 
royalty. Besides, the lute of Jacinta, you 
know, possessed a magic power, and could 
control the most stubborn head and hardest 
breast. 



Be^mb of 




Be^mb of 
Z^t Cioo ^iecxut statute 

HERE once lived in a poor part 
of the Alhambra a merry little 
fellow, named Lope Sanchez, 
who worked in the gardens, 
and was as brisk and gay as a grasshopper, 
singing all day long. He was the life and soul 
of the fortress. When his work was over, he 
would sit on one of the stone benches, strum 
his guitar, and sing songs about Spanish 
heroes, or strike up a merrier tune, and set 
the girls dancing boleros and fandangoes. 

Like most little men. Lope had a buxom 
dame for a wife, who could almost have put 
him in her pocket. They had but one child, 
a little black-eyed girl named Sanchica, who 
was as merry as her father, and the delight 
of his heart. She played about him as he 
191 



worked in the gardens, danced to his guitar 
as he sat in the shade, and ran as wild as a 
young fawn about the groves and alleys and 
ruined halls. 

It was now the eve of St. John, and the 
men, women, and children of the Alhambra 
went up at night to the mountain of the sun 
to keep their midsummer vigil on its sum- 
mit. It was a bright moonlight night, and all 
the mountains were grey and silvery, and the 
city lay in shadows below. The Vega was 
like a fairy land, with haunted streams 
gleaming among its dusky groves. On the 
highest part of the mountain they lit a fire. 
The people of the country round were keep- 
ing a similar vigil, and fires here and there 
in the Vega, and along the folds of the moun- 
tains, blazed palely in the moonlight. 

The evening was gayly passed in dancing 
to the guitar of Lope Sanchez, who was 
never so joyous as on a holiday of this kind. 
192 



While the dance was going on, Sanchica 
and some of her friends were playing among 
the ruins of an old Moorish fort, when she 
found among the pebbles a small hand curi- 
ously carved of jet. She ran to her mother 
with her prize. 

"Throw it away," said one of the women. 
" It 's Moorish and there 's witchcraft in it." 

" By no means," said another. " You may 
sell it for something to the jewellers." 

An old soldier drew near who was as 
dark as a Moor. 

"I have seen things of this kind," said he, 
" among the Moors of Barbary. It is a great 
virtue to guard against all kinds of spells and 
enchantments. I give you joy, friend Lope: 
this bodes good luck to your child." 

Upon hearing this, the wife of Lope San- 
chez tied the little hand to a ribbon, and 
hung it round the neck of her daughter. The 
dance was neglected, and they sat in groups 
on the ground, telling old legends about the 
193 



Moors. Some of the stories were about the 
very mountain on which they were seated. 
One old crone gave a long account of the 
palace which was inside the mountain where 
Boabdil and all his court are said to remain 
enchanted. 

"Among yonder ruins," said she, point- 
ing to some old walls, " there is a deep black 
pit that goes down into the very heart of the 
mountain. For all the money in Granada I 
would not look into it. Once upon a time a 
poor man of the Alhambra, who tended goats 
up on this mountain, scrambled down into 
that pit after a kid that had fallen in. He 
came out again and told such things of what 
he had seen, that every one thought he had 
gone mad. He raved about hobgoblin Moors, 
and they could hardly get him to take his 
goats up there again. He did so at last, but, 
poor man, he never came down. They found 
his hat and mantle near the mouth of the 
cavern, but he was never more heard of." 
194 



Sanchica listened to all this story. She felt 
a great longing to peep into this dangerous 
pit, so she stole away from her companions, 
and after some time, found the hollow near 
the brow of the mountain. In the centre of 
this was the mouth of the pit. She peeped 
in. All was as black as pitch. Her blood 
ran cold. She drew back, then peeped in 
again — then would have run away — then 
took another peep. She pushed a large stone 
into it. For some time it fell in silence — 
then it struck with a crash, rebounding from 
side to side, rumbling and tumbling with a 
noise like thunder. Then it made a splash 
into water, far, far below — and all was still 
again. 

A murmuring sound gradually rose out 
of the pit like the buzz and hum of bees. It 
grew louder and louder. Sanchica could hear 
voices, and the sound of arms and trumpets, 
as if some army were marshalling for battle 
in the very inside of the mountain. 
195 



€akB from i^t (Ki^cm&ta 

The child became frightened, and hastened 
back to the place where she had left her 
father and mother and their companions, but 
all were gone. The fire was going out, and 
its last wreath of smoke was curling up in 
the moonshine. Everything seemed to be 
asleep. Sanchica called, but there was no an- 
swer. She ran down the side of the moun- 
tain, and by the gardens of the Generalife, 
until she came to the alley of trees leading 
to the Alhambra. Here she seated herself on 
a bench of a woody recess, to recover breath. 

The bell in the watch-tower tolled mid- 
night. All she could hear was the tinkling 
of a stream. The sweet air was lulling her 
to sleep, when her eye was caught by some- 
thing glittering, and to her surprise she be- 
held a long line of Moorish warriors pour- 
ing down the mountain side and along the 
leafy avenues. Their horses pranced proudly, 
but their tramp caused no more sound than 
if they had been shod with felt, and the riders 
196 



were all as pale as death. Among them rode 
a beautiful lady, with a crowned head and 
long yellow hair entwined with pearls. The 
housings of her palfrey were crimson velvet 
and swept the earth; but she rode all dis- 
consolate, looking ever at the ground. 

Then came a train of men belonging to 
the court. They were arrayed in robes and 
turbans of divers colours. With them rode 
KingBoabdil. His royal mantle was covered 
with jewels, and he wore a crown sparkling 
with diamonds. Sanchica knew him by his 
yellow beard, for she had often seen his por- 
trait in the picture gallery of the Generalife. 
She gazed in wonder as they passed among 
the trees, but though she knew they were 
enchanted, yet she looked on with a brave 
heart, for the talisman gave her courage. 

When they had passed by, she rose and 
followed them to the great gate which stood 
wide open. The old men who watched there 
were sound asleep on the stone benches. 

197 



The train swept by them noiselessly, with 
banners flaunting. Sanchica would have fol- 
lowed them, but to her surprise she saw an 
opening in the earth leading down beneath 
the tower. She entered for a little way, and 
found steps hewn in the rock, and a passage 
here and there lit up by a silver lamp which 
diffused besides light a grateful fragrance. 

Going on, she came at last to a great hall 
in the heart of the mountain. It was furnished 
in Moorish style, and lighted by silver and 
crystal lamps. Here sat an old man in Moor- 
ish dress, with a long white beard, nodding 
and dozing. He had a staff in his hand which 
seemed ever to be slipping from his grasp. 
Near him sat a lady in ancient Spanish dress, 
wearing a crown. She was softly playing on 
a silver lyre. Sanchica now remembered a 
story she had heard about a Spanish princess 
who was imprisoned in the centre of the 
mountain by an old Arab whom she kept 
bound up in magic sleep by the power of music. 
198 



The lady paused at seeing Sanchica. 

"Is it the eve of the blessed St. John?" 
said she. 

"It is," replied Sanchica. 

" Then for one night the charm is broken. 
Come hither, child, and fear not. I am a 
Christian like yourself. Touch my chain with 
the talisman which hangs about your neck, 
and for this night I shall be free." 

Sanchica touched a broad golden chain 
that fastened her to the earth, as the lady had 
told her, and it fell to the ground. At the 
sound the old man woke and began to rub his 
eyes : but the lady ran her fingers over the 
lyre and again he fell asleep. 

"Now," said the lady, "touch his staff." 

The child did so, and as it fell from his 
grasp, he sank into a deep, deep sleep. The 
lady laid the silver lyre beside him. 

"Now follow me, my child," said she, 
" and you shall behold the Alhambra as it 
was in the days of its glory." 
199 



'taU^ from t^t ^f^amfim 

Sanchica followed her and they passed up 
through the entrance in the cavern. 

Everywhere were Moorish soldiers with 
floating banners, and here and there were 
royal guards and rows of African slaves. No 
one spoke a word, and Sanchica passed on 
fearlessly, following the lady. The moon lit 
up all the halls and courts and gardens, al- 
most as if it were day. The scene was far dif- 
ferent from what she was used to seeing. The 
walls were no longer stained and old. In- 
stead of cobwebs, they were now hung with 
rich silks, and the gildings and paintings 
looked bright and fresh. The halls were set 
out with divans and ottomans of rare stuffs, 
and all the fountains in the courts and gar- 
dens were playing. 

Cooks were busy in the kitchens, and ser- 
vants were hurrying to and fro with silver 
dishes heaped up with dainties, preparing a 
banquet. The Court of Lions was thronged 
with guards and courtiers, and at the upper 



200 



end sat Boabdil on his throne. Not a sound 
was to be heard except the splashing of the 
fountains. 

Sanchica followed the lady about the palace 
until they came to an opening beneath a great 
tower. On each side of the portal sat the 
figure of a nymph wrought out of alabas- 
ter. Their heads were turned aside and they 
seemed to be looking at the same spot within 
the vault. The lady paused. 

" Here," said she, " is a great secret, which 
I will reveal to you in reward for your faith 
and courage. These discreet statues watch 
over a treasure hidden long ago by an old 
Moorish king. Tell your father to search the 
spot on which their eyes are fixed, and he 
will find what will make him richer than any 
man in Granada. Your hands alone, however, 
gifted as you are with the talisman, can re- 
move the treasure." 

When the lady had spoken these words, 
she led Sanchica to the little garden hard by. 



20I 



€(xkB from t^t (^t^cm&xci 

The moon trembled upon the waters of the 
fountain, and shed a tender light upon the 
orange and citron trees. The lady picked a 
branch of myrtle and wreathed it round the 
head of the child. 

"Let this be a memento of what I have 
told you. My hour is come. I must return to 
the enchanted hall. Do not follow me lest 
evil befall you — farewell. Remember what 
I have said and pray for my freedom." 

Then the lady entered a dark passage lead- 
ing beneath the tower and was no longer 
seen. 

The faint crowing of a cock was now 
heard from the cottages in the valley, and a 
pale streak of light began to appear above 
the eastern mountains. A slight wind arose, 
there was a sound like the rustling of dry 
leaves through the courts, and door after door 
shut to with a jarring sound. 

Sanchica returned to the place where she 
had so lately beheld a throng, but Boabdil 



202 



t^^ two ®x$mtt ^t(X(nt& 

and his court were gone. The moon shone 
into empty halls stained by time and hung 
with cobwebs. Bats flitted about and frogs 
croaked from the fish-pond. 

Sanchica made her way to the staircase 
which led up to the place where she lived. 
The door as usual was open, for Lope San- 
chez was too poor to need bolt or bar. She 
crept quietly to bed, and putting the myrtle 
wreath under her pillow, soon fell asleep. 

In the morning she related all that had be- 
fallen her to her father. Lope Sanchez thought 
it was a mere dream and laughed at the child. 
He went to his work in the garden, but had 
not been there long when his little daughter 
came running to him. 

"Father! father!" cried she, "see the 
myrtle wreath which the lady bound round 
my head ! " 

Lope Sanchez looked with wonder, for 
the stalk was pure gold, and every leaf was 
a sparkling emerald! He then went to the 
203 



place where the two statues stood and found 
that they both seemed to be looking at the 
same spot on the wall. He drew a line from 
the eyes of the statues, made a mark on the 
wall, and went away. He feared that the se- 
cret might be found out and trembled when 
any one went near the place. He wished that 
he might turn their heads, forgetting that 
they had looked precisely in the same direc- 
tion for some hundreds of years, without 
any person being the wiser. 

"A plague upon them," he would say to 
himself, " they '11 betray all. Did ever mortal 
hear of such a way to guard a secret?" 

And if he heard any one coming, he would 
steal away, then return, peeping from a dis- 
tance to see if all was secure. 

" There they stand," he would say, " always 
looking and looking, just where they should 
not. They are just like all their sex: if they 
have not tongues to tattle with, they '11 be 
sure to do it with their eyes." 
204 



At last, the long day drew to a close. The 
sound of footsteps was no longer heard and 
it was quiet in the halls of the Alhambra. 
When the night was well advanced, Lope 
Sanchez went with his little daughter to the 
hall of the two statues. He found the place 
on the wall which he had marked and laid 
it open. In the recess stood two great jars of 
porcelain. He tried to draw them out, but 
they could not be moved until they were 
touched by the hands of Sanchica. With her 
aid he drew them from the niche, and found 
to his great joy, that they were filled with 
Moorish gold, and jewels and precious stones. 
Before daylight he had conveyed them to his 
house and left the two statues with their eyes 
still fixed on the wall. 

Lope Sanchez had thus become a rich 
man. But riches, as usual, brought a world 
of cares which he had never known before. 
For the first time in his life he was in fear 
of robbers, so he went to work and made 
205 



bolts and bars for his windows and doors, 
but even then he could not sleep soundly. 
He was no longer merry. He no longer had 
a joke for his friends. He became the most 
unhappy man in the Alhambra. His old 
friends, observing the change, pitied him and 
began to desert him, for they thought he must 
be falling into want and might look to them 
for assistance. Little did they think that his 
only trouble was riches. 

We ought before this to have mentioned 
that in all grave matters Lope's wife sought 
the advice of her confessor. Fray Simon, a 
sturdy, broad-shouldered friar, and he was 
soon acquainted, in great secrecy, with the 
story of the hidden treasure. 

The friar opened his eyes and mouth in 
great surprise. 

" Daughter of my soul," said he, " know 

that your husband has committed a double 

sin — a sin against both state and church! 

The treasure was found in the royal domains, 

206 



and so it belongs to the crown. But as it be- 
longed to the Moors, who were not Christians, 
it should be devoted to the church. Bring 
hither the myrtle wreath." 

When he saw the gold and emeralds, his 
eyes twinkled with delight. 

" This," said he, " I will hang in the church 
and earnestly pray that Lope may keep the 
remainder of his wealth in peace." 

The friar put the wreath under his robe, and 
with saintly step, departed. Lope's wife was 
delighted to make her peace with Heaven 
at so cheap a rate. 

When Lope returned, and his wife told 
him what had passed, he was very angry, 
but there was no use of complaining. The 
secret was told, and, like water spilled on the 
sand, was not again to be gathered. 

The next day the friar came again. He 
said to Lope's wife: 

" Daughter, I have earnestly prayed and 
in the dead of night a saint appeared to me. 
207 



€ak0 fVom t^e ^t^am&xa 

* Go to the house of Lope Sanchez,' said he, 
^ crave in my name enough of the Moorish 
gold to furnish two candlesticks for the 
church, and let him keep the rest in peace. '" 

When the good woman heard this she 
crossed herself with awe, and going to the 
place where the treasure was hid, she filled 
a great leathern purse with pieces of Moor- 
ish gold and gave it to the friar. He blessed 
her, then slipped the purse into the sleeve of 
his habit and departed. 

When Lope Sanchez heard of this second 
donation to the church, he well-nigh lost his 
senses. 

"What will become of me," cried he. 
"I shall be robbed by piecemeal: I shall be 
brought to beggary." 

The friar kept coming from day to day for 
offerings until poor Lope was driven to de- 
spair, and found that unless he got out of 
reach of this holy friar, he should have to 
make offerings to every saint in the calendar. 
208 



Therefore he made up his mind to pack what 
he had left, and go away in the night to an- 
other part of the kingdom. 

He bought a stout mule for the purpose 
and sent off his family during the day, with 
orders to wait for him at a distant village. 
When night came he loaded his mule, and 
very quietly went down the dark avenue. 

Honest Lope had made his plans with the 
utmost secrecy, telling them to no one but 
his faithful wife. Fray Simon, however, in 
some miraculous way learned of them. He 
determined to have one more dash at the 
treasure for the benefit of the church: and 
that night when all the Alhambra was quiet, 
he hid among the thickets of roses and lau- 
rels that bordered the great avenue. Here 
he remained counting the quarters of hours 
as they were sounded on the bell of the 
watch-tower and listening to the dreary 
hooting of owls, and the distant barking of 
dogs from the gypsy caverns. 
209 



At length he heard the tramp of hoofs, 
and through the gloom saw a steed coming 
towards him. He tucked up his skirts and 
sat like a cat watching for a mouse. Then 
when the steed was directly before him, he 
darted forth from his leafy covert, and put- 
ting one hand on the shoulder and the other 
on the crupper made a vault and alighted 
well-forked astride the steed. 

" Ah, ha ! " said he, " we shall now see who 
best understands the game." 

He had hardly said the words when the 
mule began to kick, and rear, and plunge, 
and then set off full speed down the hill. He 
bounded from rock to rock and bush to bush. 
The friar's habit was torn to ribbons and 
fluttered in the wind. His head received 
many a hard knock from the branches of the 
trees and many a scratch from the brambles. 

To add to his terror, he found a pack of 
seven hounds in full cry at his heels, and 
then did he know that he was not mounted 

2IO 



on Lope's mule at all, but upon the terrible 
goblin horse which was said to scour the 
streets of Granada at midnight. 

Away they went down the great avenues. 
Never did huntsman and hound make a more 
furious run or greater uproar. In vain did 
the friar invoke every saint in the calendar: 
every time he mentioned a name of the kind 
the horse bounded as high as a house. 
Through the rest of the night the unlucky 
Fray Simon was carried hither and thither 
and whither he would not, until every bone 
in his body ached. 

At last a cock crowed. At the sound 
the steed wheeled short and galloped back 
for his tower. The seven dogs yelled and 
barked and leaped and snapped at the poor 
friar. The first streak of day had just ap- 
peared as they reached the tower. Here the 
goblin kicked up his heels, sent the friar a 
somerset through the air, and plunged into 
the dark vault, followed by the dogs. 

211 



Was ever such a trick played upon a holy 
friar ? A peasant going to his work at early 
dawn found Fray Simon lying under a fig- 
tree, so bruised and bedevilled that he could 
neither speak nor move. He was taken with 
all care to his cell, and the story went that 
he had been waylaid by robbers. 

It was a day or two before he could use 
his limbs. Then his first care was to look 
under his pillow where he had hidden the 
myrtle wreath and leathern pouches of gold 
which dame Sanchez had given him. What 
was his dismay at finding the wreath but a 
withered branch of myrtle, and the pouches 
filled only with sand and gravel! 

Nothing was heard of Lope Sanchez for a 
long time after he left the Alhambra. He 
was always remembered as a merry com- 
panion, though it was feared from the care 
observed in his conduct just before his de- 
parture that poverty and distress had driven 
him away. 



212 



Some years afterwards one of his old 
friends, being at Malaga, was nearly run 
over by a coach and six. The carriage 
stopped and an old gentleman magnificently 
dressed, with a wig and sword, stepped out 
to assist him. What was the astonishment 
of the latter to behold in this grand cavalier 
his old friend, Lope Sanchez, who was cel- 
ebrating the marriage of his daughter San- 
chica with one of the first grandees in the 
land. 

The carriage contained the bridal party. 
There was dame Sanchez, dressed out with 
feathers, and jewels, and necklaces of pearls, 
and necklaces of diamonds, and rings on 
every finger, as fine as the queen of Sheba. 
The little Sanchica had now grown to be a 
woman, and for grace and beauty might have 
been mistaken for a duchess if not a princess 
outright. The bridegroom sat beside her — 
rather a spindle-shanked little man, but this 
only proved him to be of the true-blue 
213 



blood. The match had been of the mother's 
making. 

Riches had not spoiled the heart of hon- 
est Lope. He kept his old friend with him 
for several days, feasted him like a king, 
took him to plays and bull-fights, and at 
length sent him away with a big bag of 
money for himself, and another for his old 
friends of the Alhambra. 

Lope always gave out that a rich brother 
had died in America and left him a copper 
mine, but the gossips of the Alhambra insist 
that he got his wealth from discovering the 
secret guarded by the two marble nymphs. 
And it is said that these statues, even to the 
present day, stand with their eyes on the 
same spot on the wall, which leads many 
people to think that there is still some trea- 
sure hidden there. 



34-77-9 



